Hungry
by pamlin
Summary: Stowaways can be murder... I have no relationship with those who own the rights to Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea. I am merely taking the characters for a spin. Hope you enjoy this story. It's a bit of a departure for me...
1. Chapter 1

Hungry

She shivered in the cold wind that blew off the canals. Venice was no place to go hungry. No one noticed her, no one even bothered to look her way. Their blindness provided her a sort of protection. If they didn't see her, they couldn't harm her. But she was ravenous; her hollow emptiness extended to the level of her soul. She felt as if her stomach was gnawing through her abdomen, devouring her from within. That very emptiness defined her; the whiteness of her face, the icy chill of her skin, her huge, dark, pleading eyes could all be traced to the hunger that threatened to destroy her. She had seen her reflection in the waters of the canal… She knew that her face was terrifying, that her pale lips, high cheekbones, and sunken cheeks gave her a sort of horrifying beauty. But it was a beauty that repelled, rather than attracted. It was best to be invisible; If they saw her, they would hunt her, and she would never be able to satisfy her hunger…

She had stolen down to the port because she'd heard about the strange vessel that had put in here this very morning, only a handful of hours ago, while she still slept in her darkened alley, fitful and cold, and troubled by nightmares. It wasn't strange to the people around her, the ones who strode by without seeing her, who never noticed her tucked in the shadows, avoiding them. They called it a submarine, and the bits and pieces of excited conversations that she managed to overhear told her that it was an important American vessel. They didn't call it a ship, and as she looked out over the port from her vantage point in the shadows beside one of the canals that flowed into the bay, she could see why.

It looked nothing like the ships she remembered; though her memories seemed strangely distant, and there were many gaps, she knew what a ship was. Tall and majestic, with white sails, like the wings of birds, that unfurled before the wind, driving out to sea in stately fashion. She had yearned to sail with them in the years before… Before her memory blanked out, and she woke up here in a dark basement, lying in dark, cold water… Since then, she had hungered. She had tried desperately to eat the scraps she could pull from trash cans, or found floating in the canals, but they sickened her, and she soon vomited them up again. It wasn't until one night – a night she dreaded to remember – when she had sucked the blood from the cut on some poor drunken soul's arm, that she had felt her hunger ease a bit. But blood was not sustenance… It was life, yes, but it couldn't be drunk, it couldn't really relieve her hunger. But she had kept it down, and she had not sickened from it. From that day to this, she had not eaten again…

There were many homeless wretches hunkered down under the piers that stretched into the canals. Most of them were drunk; others she'd seen inject themselves with something that made them behave like drunks or madmen… Occasionally, she had been able to lick and suck the blood from wounds on a few who were oblivious to her unwholesome attentions. The act sickened her, but she couldn't stop herself. When she saw blood, she was driven to act. And blood seemed to be the only thing she could stomach. She craved it increasingly, but couldn't bring herself to seek it.

So the hunger gnawed at her, and the chill numbed her skin and darkened her eyes. She distracted herself from it any way that she could. Tonight, she had come to see the submarine, and found it strangely inviting.

Long and sleek, like the bullet from a gun, but with a swelling like wings at its nose, it rocked gently, sitting low in the water. It carried a tower on its deck, that soared upward, with wings on either side, and a collection of masts at the top. Not the kind of masts that carried sails, though. And most strangely of all, it was made of metal. Just above the water, at its nose, it carried a set of windows, and her vision – honed by months, perhaps even years of deprivation – could see clearly the men who scurried about inside. She ignored them in favor of the ones who worked on the deck, and the two who stood atop the tower, looking down on the avenue that led past their vessel.

She slipped out of the shadows, clutching them around her as if she could take them with her. As she worked her away along the canal to the port area, she started away from anyone who came too near. It was late; there were only a few people that hurried through the night. She closed her eyes against the red glow beneath their skin that flowed like blood. Her vision had been changed after she'd waked up in the flooding basement. Before the blackness in her memory, her eyesight had been poor indeed. She had seen the world enveloped in a blur, smearing across her vision. Afterwards, she could see more clearly, farther than she ever had, with a sharpness that surprised her. But every living creature glowed with a red flood beneath the skin, beneath the fur. It was a tangible thing, pulling at her, calling to her. She expended every ounce of her ravenous strength in resisting that call. It frightened her; it exhilarated her… She didn't know what to make of it.

As she approached the submarine – such a strange word, implying as it did that the vessel could sink beneath the waves – she realized that another man stood on the docks, calling out orders to the men on deck. He must be an officer; he wore a uniform the color of fine sand, and he was tall and slim, and darkly handsome. The glow beneath his skin pulled her toward him, magnetic in its attraction, but she pulled back into a patch of shadows before she reached him, just in time.

Another officer, this one also slim and handsome, but with the fair hair of the Scandinavian travelers that used to visit her father's spice shop in the heart of the city, along the Grand Canal leaped nimbly across the gap between the dock and the rocking submarine. He called out to the other man, but she couldn't understand the language. Undoubtedly it was English, since the submarine was said to be American. Her father had lectured her about learning other languages, but she had never had a head for them. And then her memory had gone dark, and now… Now she was afraid to try.

But she wanted aboard the vessel that rocked in the gentle waves of the bay. If she could just manage to make her way into it, she could find shadows to hide her, and the submarine would take her far from Venice, from the filthy canals, and the people who refused to see her, and the homeless drunks under the piers. There was nothing here for her anymore, and she had always longed to sail out on the ocean, to feel the gentle rocking of the waves…

Both men turned toward her, as if they sensed her there in the shadows. She shrank back away from their combined gazes, but they couldn't see her. She knew they couldn't. She closed her eyes against the red glow beneath their skin, but she could picture them against the backs of her eyelids.

The darker one was older perhaps, but not by much more than a handful of years. He had warm olive skin, blushed by the glow beneath, and surprisingly light, hazel eyes that reflected his emotions expressively. His dark hair was charmingly unruly, curling across his forehead. He had a Mediterranean look about him that was familiar to her. Her brother had looked much like him, in the years before her memory had died, only to awaken again in the cold basement of her father's spice shop. She had never known how she had come to be there. And when she looked at her own white skin, there was no red glow beneath. She had wondered at that, and been frightened by it…

The other, younger man was more exotic to her eyes. His ice-blond hair lay perfectly, not a hair out of place, and his glacial blue eyes were far less expressive, though she could sense emotions beneath the façade, as if he were hiding them away. His skin was fairer than his companion's, and the red, warm glow beneath gave it a rosy hue that was very pleasing to her eyes. A casual observer might make the mistake of thinking him cold, but she knew somehow that he wouldn't be, that his blood ran as hot as the other man's, though he kept himself under such tight control.

She opened her eyes and looked at them again. There was an ease between them of years of friendship. They moved together, their mannerisms echoing each other. The darker man tended to move his hands as he spoke, emphasizing his words with gestures and smiles. The fairer man gave an impression of uncanny stillness, and his smile, when it came seemed slow and almost hesitant, as if it were a rare thing for him to smile. It lit up his face, and thawed those frozen eyes, lending a warmth to those classical features. Two such different men; she felt the magnetic pull of both, and inched closer to listen to their warm baritone voices as they spoke, enjoying the lyrical sensuality, even though she couldn't understand a word…

Oh, yes… She must somehow steal aboard this vessel, this submarine, if only to watch and listen to the men aboard. Their blood called to her; for this moment, she was unafraid of that call and what it meant. This submarine would take her far from Venice, in good company, and she couldn't wait to be away, sailing over the horizon. Would they walk that low deck when they were at sea, or would they stay inside? Would she feel the salt spray against her skin?

Could she satisfy her hunger at last? It gnawed away at her, devouring her from the inside out, and she knew she would perish of it, if she couldn't find a way to feed without sickening herself… Perhaps these men, this vessel would be her answer…

She watched as the two men walked away together, passing only inches from her hiding place. She could have reached out and touched them, had she wished to… But she didn't, knowing that the act would ruin her chances of getting aboard, of finding a place to wait out the hours before this American submarine would sail again. Where would it take her? She closed her eyes and threw her head back, drawing in the salt-rich air, the wild scent of the sea. She had always loved it, yearned for it, wanted to ride away from here on the ships that sailed away to freedom. Her father had held her back, his disapproval destroying her young dreams. Now, she would fulfill them at last.

Drawing the shadows around her, she moved toward the dock. It was tricky, this shifting manipulation of shadows. She didn't know how she could do it; she only knew that she could, and that there were times when the ability had saved her life. There were always places where the shadows could hide her, even in the brightest areas. The deck of the boat was brightly lit, but she manipulated the shadows around her, slipping aboard lightly, keeping to the edge of the deck where the shadow of the waves that whispered against the metal sides of this strange boat could hide her. There must be a way inside… She looked for it, finally found it in a door that opened in the tower atop the deck, and waited patiently for someone to open it, so that she could move inside.

Freedom… To be away with the tide, moving out across the face of the ocean… She couldn't wait…

But, oh, the inside of this boat was strange. The metal walls created a tangy echo that sounded as if her footsteps, though they were whisper-soft, were being dogged. The shadows were harsher somehow, brighter. She had to keep very close to the walls to weave them around her, to hide within them. The place seemed so cold and antiseptic…

Yet there was warmth, too. The warmth of a hundred heartbeats, thundering all around her with a deafening rhythm. It was different from the sluggish drone of hearts under the bridges and in the dark alleys of Venice. This boat was alive with the sound, exuberant with it. She could have danced to the beat, but she had to keep out of sight, until she could reach a place of safety. Where would that be on that this strange craft?

She came to a place to descend further into the boat. The stairs were incredibly steep with open spaces between the treads. She went down slowly and carefully, hanging onto the rail. Did the men aboard go down as slowly as she did? She doubted it somehow…

At last, she reached the bottom, and looked about her. The corridor was bright, but she clung to the shadows along the edges, slipping quietly into the deeper darkness under the stairs. This place was not deserted. She could hear men speaking all around her, and see their shadows pass up and down the corridors around her, but none came within her sight. There must be a place to hide somewhere; she couldn't take the chance that she would be found, before this strange vessel set sail. With determination, she set herself to find a hiding place.


	2. Chapter 2

They came back aboard, laughing. Admiral Nelson watched them, a bit exasperated because they were late, but he couldn't be angry, because the laughter had eased the tension on deck instantly, and the men looked on with an air of fond indulgence, much like he himself felt.

Nelson's Nursery, the naysayers called his boat. At first, the insulting nickname had angered him. A nursery he didn't run, and never would; but after awhile, he began to realize that it was just sour grapes. He had some of the youngest officers in the fleet, yes, but they were also among the best. He had had his captain handed to him on a silver platter, but he had had to purloin his XO from Captain Jackie Waters, and that had been no mean feat. Together the two of them were the youngest command team in the whole of the Navy, and the most sought after. Every time they were mentioned, Jiggs Starke about had apoplexy and went into his never-changing tirade about how Nelson had _stolen_ the two best men in the fleet.

Stolen was not in Nelson's vocabulary, however. He had gotten his men fair and square, and he wasn't letting either of them go anytime soon. And he had floated his own nickname, to contend with Nelson's Nursery.

Madness and Method… If either Lee or Chip ever found out that the despised moniker had come from Nelson himself, the floodgates of wrath would open, but the resulting fallout would be worth it. Madness perfectly described Lee's style, always thinking outside the box, as thoroughly unpredictable as anyone could be. As for Method, you could set your watch by him, and if he was methodical, his moral compass, cool courage, and mathematical intelligence made him absolutely invaluable. Sometimes, Nelson felt a bit disloyal to John's memory when he looked with satisfaction on the team he had built since John's death, but in all honesty, by making this boat top of the line, he was honoring his best friend's life and his sacrifice.

None of which changed the fact that his command team was late coming back aboard, and deserved a dressing-down. He had expected Chip to keep Lee to the schedule. He should have known that no one could keep Lee to any schedule he didn't want to follow. He cleared his throat and said sternly, "Glad you could make it, gentlemen."

Lee smiled that disarming smile, showing no sign of the slight discomfort Chip was no doubt hiding behind that expressionless façade. Lee took every set-back with a shrug and a disarming smile; Chip, the classic dictionary definition of a perfectionist, hated to be found anything less than perfect. Lee shot that quick look up from under his lashes at Nelson and flashed perfect teeth in a charming smile. "My fault, sir. There was this little night club on the Grand Canal…"

Nelson cut him off, not wanting to hear. He knew that night club; he'd been there himself. God help the women who sat there letting every man in the bar buy them drinks and the wealthiest man take them home, when this pair had walked in… Lee would have charmed every one of them, while Chip would have sat there, looking them over with methodical disinterest, never noticing the flirtatious glances cast his way… Unless Viviana had been there; Viviana was someone special, and Nelson had no doubt she could even make the XO's imperturbable mask slip a bit. "I get the picture, captain. You do know that you are at least an hour late?"

"That's my fault, sir." Chip hastened to take the blame. "My watch stopped, and…" He glanced at Lee, and that shy and mischievous grin lit up his face. Nelson watched with interest; this must be some story.

"I lost mine somewhere." Lee lifted his bare wrist with a laugh. "Anyway, we're here now, sir. Everyone else back aboard?"

"You two are the last." Nelson kept the sternness in his voice, but there was no real heat behind it. He had been anxious this past hour, wondering what could have happened, but here they were, relaxed and content, no harm done. Even the COB – a worrier if there ever was one – had settled down and had his men pulling the gangplanks up and tidying the deck. They would be ready to sail in an hour or so. "Come aboard, gentlemen. Let's not keep Seaview waiting."

Both officers effortlessly leaped the space between the dock and the boat, and followed the admiral through the hatch.

All three noticed the change in atmosphere instantly, though none of them said anything. Nelson kept his misgivings to himself; no need to ask if they were shared. He saw the look that passed between his skipper and XO. Both men were suddenly on edge; no more lighthearted laughter. The boat didn't feel right. Seaview's moods were mercurial, but never had she felt so heavy with danger as she did right now, when no obvious danger threatened.

Wary suspicion clouded the atmosphere, setting anxiety humming through every nerve. The admiral didn't even have to look at Lee or Chip to feel their own heightened tension. It was a tangible thing, drawing them together, as if they could read each other's thoughts. He knew before the XO spoke that he would have some sort of suggestion for discovering why Seaview suddenly felt like a danger zone. "We'd better have some security drills, sir," Chip suggested, his voice light, as if allowing the darkness to creep in would somehow let whatever might be listening in the shadows know that they were concerned. But his eyes had turned to ice, as cold as Nelson had ever seen them. "Just to keep the men in shape."

Lee nodded. His own nature was fiercer than Chip's. His hazel eyes blazed, not with anger but with suspicion. He carefully kept from turning toward a shadowed doorway up ahead, but Nelson knew he was scanning the immediate area for any threat. He was nothing if not well-trained. "Good idea," he agreed casually. "And maybe a stowaway drill to help them get back into practice."

"Aye, sir, I'll add that to the schedule, too." Chip peeled away, heading for the boat's office, where his yeoman, Dolores Brown was installed in solitary splendor. Together, they would plan the week's schedule, but Nelson would be willing to bet that the stowaway drill would take place immediately after they sailed, with the security drills to follow, all in the first few days at sea. If there were a reason for Seaview's forbidding atmosphere, they would know what it was within days, if not within hours…

Not that anyone could have sneaked aboard to stow away. The COB's security schedule was tight. Anything that so much as squeaked in Seaview's direction was detained, questioned, and escorted away before it knew what had happened. And speaking of the COB, Nelson could hear him coming, his shoes slapping against the floor at a faster pace than he generally used. Lee had heard it, too, and turned to face Sharkey as he approached them.

"Something's not right," the COB said right away, wiping the harbor spray from his face with a handkerchief. "Skipper, there's no way anyone could have gotten on board, but…" He trailed off and shook his head, and his eyes showed his apprehension. "Something's not right," he repeated helplessly and splayed his fingers, not noticing when the handkerchief fluttered to the deck.

Lee took pity on him, and laid a hand on his shoulder in sympathy. "We're on it, COB. Plan for a stowaway drill in a few hours. And several security drills over the next few days." He glanced at Nelson, his hazel eyes wary, and lowered his voice to encompass just the three of them. "If there's someone aboard who shouldn't be, we'll find them."

"There's no way anyone could have gotten on board," Sharkey insisted, lowering his voice at the captain's cue. "We had the boat sewed up tight, sir, I promise you. I don't know what's wrong, but I don't see how it could be a stowaway…" He blew air out between his teeth in a hiss. "I'll have the men do a complete overhaul of all systems, and inventory everything. Maybe something's gone wrong with the atmospheric controls or the air revitalization…" He trailed off and shook his head. Clearly the dark, foreboding atmosphere had him rattled. Seaview no longer felt like their beloved lady; she felt like an enemy, and it had them all feeling insecure.

"Good thinking, COB. No sense taking any chances." Nelson glanced between them. "Lee. When we're safely underway, report to my cabin. We'll work out a plan to deal with this."

Lee's eyes turned brooding; he opened his mouth to speak, but Nelson forestalled him with an upraised hand. "Yes, I want Chip, too." He forced a smile he was far from feeling, as disquiet slithered up his spine. "I won't leave him out when we so clearly need him in the loop." There had been a time when he hadn't been so accommodating. He acknowledged that frequently he left Chip in the dark, forcing him to work beyond his potential; it always amazed him how successful the XO could be when he didn't have any clue what was going on. But he had made a promise to himself that he wouldn't treat the man so badly anymore; Pem had taught him a terrible lesson, and he had learned it well. He wouldn't take any of his people for granted anymore; certainly not the ones he most valued…

_Concentrate on the problem at hand, Harry…_ John's voice, taking him to task. John was always in his head, steering him in the right direction – when he felt inclined to go. "Go get the boat underway, lad. When you're done, you and Chip report to me, and we'll talk this over."

"Aye, sir." Lee went away, towing an anxious Sharkey behind him. Nelson looked around the gloomy corridor, wondering what had happened in the last few hours to make Seaview feel so uninviting, so intimidating, so… wrong.

With luck, they'd find out before any sacrifices had to be made…


	3. Chapter 3

Briggs listened to the friendly bickering between Kowalski and Patterson as they made their way through the boat. They had C deck, but they had worked far enough aft that there wasn't much in this section but storerooms. Kowalski and Patterson were arguing over where a stowaway would have the best chance of hiding, if one ever managed to get past security and get aboard. Kowalski thought the aft storeroom by the Missile Room would be the best bet, but Patterson argued strongly for the ventilation system.

Briggs smiled as he listened to them. He had come aboard to replace Steve Nash, who had to take a shore post, now that he'd been diagnosed with schizophrenia. After his behavior on the boat that last cruise, Briggs was amazed at the generosity of the admiral in offering Nash a post in the Institute's Radar division. He'd have thought that the man would have been let go as soon as possible, but Kowalski assured him that no one would ever be dismissed from the Institute without just cause. Patterson just said that Nash had been sick, and everyone knew that sick people sometimes did crazy things.

Briggs didn't know about that, but he had found Nash to be very helpful in explaining his job aboard the boat. He knew radar, of course, but to earn his dolphins, he needed to have a working knowledge of every system aboard. That was proving a lot harder than he'd thought it would. He was lucky that Pat and Ski had taken him under their wing, so to speak. What they didn't know about Seaview probably wasn't worth knowing…

He shivered. The boat had felt very different on the way to Venice, than it felt now, only a few hours after they'd left the place. He'd been excited about the visit, glad of shore leave in the exotic locale, and pleased with the souvenirs he'd bought for his girlfriend and her little boy. He'd been back snug in his berth, before the skipper and the XO left to tour Venice for a few hours. The boat had felt fine then, a shelter that seemed to welcome him home when he stepped back aboard her. But somewhere in the hours that the skipper was gone, she had changed…

The COB didn't say so, but Briggs knew that everyone thought that a stowaway had somehow sneaked aboard, hence Ski and Pat's good-natured argument. Their way of letting off a little steam, calming their taut nerves as they searched the boat methodically. Briggs knew he still had a lot to learn about submarines, but he was confident that he could learn it from these guys…

He pulled open a storage room door and peered inside warily. The atmosphere seemed to have darkened. He knew that Pat and Ski felt it, too, because their voices had gradually trailed into silence. One of them spoke to him now; Pat he thought. "See anything, Briggs?"

He didn't; but something had turned the shadows black, and sent them scurrying for the farthest corner of the room, and it certainly wasn't the light that he jerked on instinctively so that he could see. "I… don't know…"

He felt Ski come up behind him, but his thoughts were taken up with his own faltering courage. _Oh, man… I'm going to have to go in there…_ He didn't want to; he really, really didn't want to. "I think we'd better check it out…" The words stuck in his throat, but he got them out somehow.

Ski, too, seemed to have difficulty talking, as if his tongue were stuck to the room of his mouth… "Okay. Pat, you wait out here." He nudged Briggs aside and went into the storage closet. Thankful not to have to face it alone, Briggs crept in behind him…

He never saw the attacker… Something surged out of the darkness in that corner, and he thought it might have been female. There was a smell to it that had a feminine tinge to it. But underneath the pleasant perfume, there was something else, something… vile… bloody… He back-pedaled, flinging his arms up, but whatever it was that he couldn't see went after Ski first, and Briggs heard him yell, but was frozen, powerless to do anything but slap wildly at the shadows that suddenly enveloped him. He heard rather than saw Ski's body thump to the floor, felt Pat come in behind them, but knew nothing more after that but the icy touch of something like a mouth against his throat and a strange lethargic fear that robbed him of even the power of movement…

He came to in Sickbay, sick and shuddering, with no energy even to lift his hand to his throbbing throat. He could hear breathing in the bunk above him, and when he made the effort to turn his head, slowly and painfully, he saw Ski's hand dangling over the edge, bloodlessly pale… The sight frightened him and he called out hoarsely, "Hey! Hey, Doc, what happened? Hey, isn't anyone here?"

His voice seemed to wither in the silence, hardly strong enough to break it, but almost before he finished speaking, Doc McKenzie was there, bending over him with a reassuring touch. "Settle down, Briggs. You've lost a lot of blood."

But Briggs was panicking now, after the fact. "What about Ski? Where's Pat? Doc, you gotta tell me what happened?!" He could hardly swallow over the pain in his throat, and talking was agony, but he had to know.

Doc glanced over his shoulder, and after a moment, one of the corpsmen appeared and hovered at Briggs' feet. Uh-oh… They looked like they were getting ready to restrain him. He lay very still, and looked pleadingly at Doc.

With a sigh, Doc gave in and begin to tell him about the attack…


	4. Chapter 4

Admiral Nelson sat in silence, watching his young officers. Years of ONI training had taught Lee Crane to be still; the kind of stillness that intimidated without sound, that kept all feelings tamed to the mind, that insured that no one noticed him when he needed to be unnoticed. He was completely under control, seated almost nonchalantly in his chair, watching his XO pace an arc back and forth across the deck of Nelson's cabin.

Chip Morton's perfect poker face didn't let anyone know his thoughts, but fury was evident in all that restless energy that drove him back and forth across the floor like a caged tiger. They knew for certain now that someone or something had gained entry to the boat. Whoever or whatever it was, it had left three crewmen in Sick Bay, one of them just barely clinging to life. The command team was steaming; that was why Chip paced restlessly, wearing that arc in the deck plating. Lee was every bit as angry as Chip, but far more successful at keeping himself still and relaxed, giving him more time to think about what needed to be done.

Not that Chip wasn't thinking as he paced. That methodical, mathematical mind never stopped working. He had been down to Sick Bay to question the two victims who could actually answer him. Nelson knew he had a report to make, and waited patiently, knowing the XO was turning the answers over and over in his mind, trying to make sense of them. "Pat didn't see anything but shadows. Briggs thought it was female. Ski was in no condition to say anything at all." He turned savagely on his heel and paced back toward the door. At this rate, he would wear a hole in the deck plating. "Sharkey and I went over that storeroom with a fine-tooth comb, and found nothing."

Not exactly true. They'd found a good bit of blood, though not enough to explain the amount of blood lost by three crewmen in that room. That was possibly a clue in the case; it seemed to Nelson that the fact that there was too little of it was somehow integral to the mystery. "You found a good deal," he corrected his XO, pausing to consider what they knew before he put his thoughts into words.

They knew that something had attacked the three crewmen in that storeroom. Therefore, something had been in there that didn't belong, but less than fifteen minutes later – and with no obvious opportunity for the attacker to escape - Chip and Sharkey had found nothing. Nelson knew that they had torn that storeroom apart; Chip would have seen to it that the search was thorough and methodical, and the COB would have done anything that would help find who had turned his three crewmen into something resembling sushi…

If it hadn't been for Pat's quick thinking, they might have all died in that tiny space. Ski had taken the brunt of the attack, and they were all on pins and needles, awaiting Will's judgment on whether or not he would survive. Most of the blood in the storeroom had been his, and his shoulder looked like it had been savaged by some wild beast.

Briggs was the second victim. His throat had been practically ripped open, and he had sustained significant blood loss as well, but Pat, blinded by shadows, had latched onto Briggs and dragged him clear, then had gone back for Ski.

Going back had cost him; the gashes in his arms – flung up to defend himself from something he couldn't even see – had taken forty-eight and thirty-nine stitches respectively. He, too, had lost blood, but mostly he was shaken up by the encounter, ashamed of the fact that he could offer no help toward finding and identifying the assailant.

He had nothing to be ashamed of; they were all agreed on that. His actions had saved two other crew members. Once he'd dragged them into the hall, he'd immediately notified Will and Lee, and within ten minutes, all three were in Sick Bay, receiving blood transfusions, and Chip was sweeping through that storeroom like a hurricane, looking for anything he could lash out at. Failure to find the assailant had only whipped his anger up more, so that he paced back and forth here in the admiral's cabin, wearing away the deck plating, as they waited for the admiral to speak.

"Nothing that didn't belong!" Chip flung the words back, his voice causing the temperature in the room to plummet. "What the hell good does that do us? She was there, and then she wasn't… How she escaped when that hallway was full of men within seconds of Pat's SOS, I can't figure out…" He took a deep breath, visibly attempting to calm himself. "But she did escape, which means she's somewhere aboard this boat, and I have no idea where!" His face tightened as he swung around at the top of his arc and started toward the door again, moving faster as his agitation increased.

Nelson could tell when Lee decided that he needed to take a hand. The captain's eyes flicked toward Nelson, then Lee rose from his chair, stepping into his XO's path, forcing him to stop short. "We did everything we could. It is not your fault or mine that Ski and Briggs are confined to Sick Bay in critical condition." He said the words very calmly in a voice that was soft enough that his friend would have to strain to hear. This was where he had an advantage over Nelson, who was typically inclined to let his anger rule him. He had to work hard to keep his temper from rising in response to Chip's own. The last thing they needed was for him to chew on his XO as he had too often done in the past. He was trying to mend his ways, but sometimes it was hard. He knew exactly how Chip felt…

They could both use Lee's cool head in this crisis. Quick thinking abounded on this boat, but a cool head and calming words were in short supply. Lee used the techniques he had learned to cool the head and ease the temper to good effect. "We don't have any leads just yet. There's nothing we can do at the moment."

"I know that." Realizing that the sharpness of the words sounded cruelly insubordinate, Chip immediately backed away and raised his hands placatingly. "I hear what you're saying, but…"

But it tore him up to have to sit and wait; Nelson knew exactly how he felt. But he was unable to suppress the urge to bark. "None of us like it! But until we have something else to go on, there's nothing we can do!" He snarled reflexively, then tried to tone down his words. "Have you doubled the watch and seen to security in all sections?

"Aye, sir." The words were quick; Chip would have taken care of that immediately, probably had done it within five minutes of being called to the scene of the crime. And Lee wouldn't have bothered to request the arrangement, knowing that his XO would have seen to it. They were a great team because each could so easily read the other's mind.

Finally taming the restless energy that was driving him, Chip drew in a shuddering breath, and dropped into a chair, forcing himself to settle. His face was inscrutable as ever, but Nelson was learning to see what lay behind the façade. It took effort, and he would probably never master it, but there were times when he could clearly see what was going on in those icily intense eyes. Right now, it was concern; the XO was struggling to put his thoughts into some semblance of order. Something more was bothering Chip, and if it was having this kind of impact, Nelson thought he knew what it was.

Chip was an extraordinarily good reader of situations, and his intuition was invaluable but he was also highly skeptical. That skepticism was often his most valuable asset, but in this situation, where even Nelson's own scientific mind was struggling, skepticism would simply interfere with finding a solution.

On the other hand, if Chip could find a practical reason for what was happening aboard this boat, it would be as well to hear it, and see how well it fit the facts. Occam's Razor wasn't helping Nelson much right now… He would be willing to entertain any logical solution that would fit all the facts. He just wasn't certain there was a logical solution…

He waited patiently for several minutes, but it was Lee who prompted gently, "There's something else, isn't there?"

The words came slowly, almost hesitantly. "It just doesn't make sense from any angle…" He looked up and met Lee's eyes, his own mirroring the confusion of his thoughts. "The assault was brutal, and evidently took time, yet Pat saw nothing, and Briggs could only speculate that the assailant was female…" He paused, clearly mulling it over and not liking the conclusions he was drawing. "And where did the blood go? The amount we found wasn't anything like enough to explain either Ski's condition or Briggs'." He splayed his fingers in frustration. "So we have an assailant no one saw, shedding blood we can't find… It doesn't make sense!"

Nelson had to agree with him. Kowalski wouldn't have walked into a situation that was clearly dangerous. Yet he'd walked into that storeroom without a thought, without even a weapon… Patterson had cut his teeth on a camera, and his passion for photography had sharpened his observation skills. He had the quickest eyes on the boat. How could he have missed the person or thing who had slashed his arms to ribbons as he'd defended Ski and himself? Even tending to two injured men, he was the person most likely to notice when the assailant slipped away, but he hadn't… And neither had any of the respondents to his SOS. Even Lee and Chip – who noticed everything – had failed to note a stranger escaping the scene, and they had been there within a handful of minutes of Patterson's ship-wide distress call.

"It couldn't have been human…" Chip spoke so softly that his listeners barely heard him, but the pale face carved in stone gave away the XO's unwilling acceptance of something that was utterly fantastic.

"No, lad, it couldn't have been." The admiral's gruff voice showed his unwillingness to believe that one incontrovertible fact. The suspicion he harbored in his brain was completely unscientific, but it fit all the known facts… The improbability of it exacerbated his temper. He rose from his chair and paced, not unlike Chip moments before, but the whole time he studied his young officers, satisfied that they were running true to form.

Lee sat casually in his chair, outwardly at ease, but the narrowed eyes showed that inwardly he was strung tight. Chip's perfect poker face was intact; no one could have guessed at the turmoil hidden behind those ice-blue eyes. Poster boys for Navy preparedness, both of them. That he'd managed to snag them both still constantly amazed him. He had reinvented himself as a father figure to Lee; he had been a mentor to Chip since the boy was twelve. They were absolutely the best that any Navy, anywhere in the world, had to offer…

But this was something else again… He wondered if Madness would be able to think far enough outside the box to brainstorm a solution to this problem; and if he could, would Method be able to put aside his skepticism and put the plan into action with all his usual methodical flair? It was a dicey question, but the answers wouldn't be long in coming…

Lee turned his head to meet Nelson's gaze. "It couldn't have been an animal, sir." His confident tone told Nelson he was already halfway to accepting what Nelson had already accepted. And he was right, of course… An animal big enough to do the kind of damage that had been done to Kowalski could find no hiding place on this boat. And if it had been an animal, surely Briggs or Pat would have pointed out that fact. Yet they both claimed they hadn't seen anything but shadows. Only Briggs had gotten any other impression, and he'd only thought it was a woman… Manifestly it couldn't have been a woman, because a woman couldn't have done that kind of damage without a weapon…

Nelson shook his head. "I don't think it was an animal."

"Then what?" Chip's frustration leaked into his voice. "Are we fighting ghosts and vampires now?" Scorn dripped from the words, but Nelson heard the underlying note of agitation and flicked a glance toward his XO, reassured when Chip's steady gaze met his. Agitated, yes, but not afraid. He couldn't remember a time when he'd seen the lad afraid of anything…

Except the rats… And even then he hadn't broken…

But now wasn't the time for the pride that filled him quite unexpectedly. He had done a good job with the boy Alan Morton could so easily have destroyed. And John had finished the job with flair and determination…

Nelson shook the thought away, returning to the problem like a dog with a bone. He had read avidly and comprehensively. The quote he needed came to him from the adventures of Sherlock Holmes… Old school, but perfectly tailored to the grim situation they now faced. "'When you've eliminated the impossible," he said solemnly, "whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." He shrugged at them both, and his brows drew together in a frown. "I don't like the idea any better than you do… The thought of something as ridiculous as vampires aboard this boat…" His eyes narrowed, and his voice turned harsh. "But where did the blood go? Where did the assailant go? How is it possible that no one saw her?"

Lee said nothing; he didn't have to. They both knew that the XO would respond with something approaching reason, covering the fact that both Lee and the admiral were considering the possibility that something as silly as a bloodthirsty, reanimated corpse could possibly exist. Sure enough, Chip marshaled his arguments and leaped into the fray. "So we raid Cookie's supply of garlic and start carving wooden stakes? Can you hear how insane that sounds?" He shook his head and spread his hands in a gesture of frustration. "We have to look at this logically and find a reasonable answer that fits all the facts."

Nelson cocked his head, regarding his XO sternly, almost coldly. "And what answer would that be?"

Chip opened his mouth to speak, realized he had nothing but questions, and bit his lip. "I don't know! But surely if we examine this thing from all angles…" He trailed into silence, defeated by his own logical mind. He'd already examined the incident from all possible angles and hadn't found a reasonable answer. He already knew the admiral was right; they'd eliminated the impossible. But what did that leave?

Lee shuddered suddenly, as if the room's temperature had plummeted. Everyone was having trouble with this… If it weren't for Occam's Razor… "So what are we talking about here, Admiral?"

Nelson turned his head to capture Lee's gaze; the intense hazel eyes held no hint of warmth or humor. He was totally fixated on the problem at hand, and as angry as the admiral had ever seen him. It spoke volumes for his self-control that he was able to speak with logical presence of mind, chaining his anger into more productive channels. It was a lesson that Nelson privately admitted he needed to learn. His own temper frequently got the best of him. But he had made a promise to himself to exert better control over it, and he was determined to succeed… So with difficulty, he forced down his anger to answer Lee's question. "I think we have to consider the possibility…" It went against the grain; a scientist just didn't make these kinds of concessions to fantasy. Nelson was struggling with it, but he tried again and got the words out. "I think we have to consider the possibility that we are dealing with the stuff of legends rather than facts."

Chip expelled his breath in a hiss of disapproval, but had nothing to say to refute the suggestion. Instead he sat back in his chair watching the admiral pace back and forth. His fingers flexed, sure sign that he wanted to have something to work with, something that would allow him to calm his mind so that he could think. In the absence of a pen or pencil, or other tool, he moved his hands unconsciously, clenching and unclenching them as he considered what must seem to him as absolute fantasy. "Okay. No one saw her. So… Is she invisible? Or does she manipulate the shadows?"

Nelson heard the words, but his mind refused to assimilate them at first. Lee was quicker off the mark, a sign of his more fluid ability to wrap his mind around this. "Pat said he saw nothing but shadows. Briggs said it was dark, even with the light on. She's not invisible. She can't be. Briggs sensed her and felt her touch, even though Pat didn't see her. She manipulates the shadows to hide herself…" Lee nodded slowly. "Yes. And I think that manipulating shadows is how she got on board without being seen." He thought for a moment, clearly remembering what they'd felt in Seaview as soon as they'd come aboard to cast off and head out to sea… "And we can add to our profile that she seems to produce some kind of atmosphere of dread…"

Nelson remembered only too well how Seaview had turned from a welcoming vessel - his home away from home, his pride and joy - to a sinister, uninviting hulk of steel and wiring in a matter of hours. Yes, she definitely produced an atmosphere of dread. Even Seaview resented her presence…

Chip nodded and his hands stilled. Each new argument was making the acceptance of this easier. "Right. We didn't find nearly enough blood to account for all that Ski, Briggs, and Pat lost…"

This time, Nelson answered, his brows knitting together across his nose as he frowned. So hard… Yet he was the scientist here. He should be able to field even these bizarre questions. "So she took it from the scene somehow. Did she drink it? Or did she catch it in something?"

"Not enough time to drain blood into some vessel and carry it away. And not enough time to mop it up or get rid of it some other way. " Chip hesitated, then rose as he spoke, tucking his hands away behind his back, probably so that neither Nelson or Lee would notice his agitation. He was a master at hiding his emotions and seeming to be so uncannily still and silent, but undoubtedly this female predator disturbed him. He'd been the victim of another such, though Dr. Pope had been completely human, if utterly mad. That he was able to put aside those memories and deal with this issue with the utmost professionalism spoke volumes for his courage. "She must have drunk it."

Nelson nodded his approval of the reasoning. "It's the only thing that makes sense. And if she drinks blood…" He trailed off, his eyes narrowing at the implications. A vampire… He didn't even believe in such things…

But then before Krueger, he hadn't believed in ghosts either… There were more things in heaven and on Earth there were dreamt of in his scientific thoughts. Things that couldn't be proven in conventional ways, but which he now knew existed nonetheless. Phantoms… And now vampires… It was a stranger world than Nelson had ever imagined…

"I can't believe we're even having this discussion." Chip's words came out on a breath that Nelson barely heard, but the admiral commiserated with him. Still, as unreal as the situation seemed, they had three crewmen down and an unknown assailant aboard. They had to do something to figure this out, and they had to do it fast. The alternative was unthinkable…


	5. Chapter 5

She huddled in a room with a pool of brine in it; she had fled from the closet, drawing the shadows around herself for protection. No one had followed her; no one had seen her. Her stomach was full for the first time since she had awakened in her father's flooded basement, but she shuddered at what she had done… She hadn't thought, had only reacted, knowing that if those men had found her there, they would have taken her back to Venice. She didn't want to go back to Venice; she wanted to stay here, to watch and listen to the men going about their business… She knew they were all men, though she wasn't exactly sure how she knew since she had only seen a handful of them. Some in red and blue working on the deck, and three or four in uniform, giving orders and supervising. The three who had surprised her in the closet were the first she had seen in the boat itself. All the others she had seen on deck…

She thought back to the two young officers she had seen leaving the boat to walk through Venice, remembered that she had thought them both handsome, but now a second description attached itself to them, born of the blood she had drunk in the closet… Prey… They were all of them her prey. It was no wonder that she hadn't been able to eat common food. Somehow she had become a predator, hunting for blood… She shrank from it, but at the same time longed for it… Being a predator might at last give her some power. She had never been free to do as she liked; always someone had held her under his thumb. Her father, until he died, then her brother, until… Until… She couldn't remember what had happened to her brother. That memory was locked away in the black void between her father's death, and her awakening…

Blood… She could live on blood, and it was all she could live on. The gnawing hunger that was consuming her could only be sated with blood. She licked her lips, tasting again the blood of the men who had found her. Two of them she had tasted; the third had somehow gotten away from her and taken the others with him. But as she'd slipped out of the closet, she'd seen the men gathered in the hall, had seen them give way before the fair-haired man she'd admired on the dock. He was dangerous. So was the dark one whose warm Mediterranean coloring reminded her of her brother. Sooner or later, she would have to hunt them down and destroy them, but her heart wept at the thought… She didn't want to kill… did she?

The first faint rumblings in her stomach reminded her that she needed to feed again. She had been hungry for so long that she craved blood incessantly. She wondered if she would have to destroy the entire crew of this strange craft before she was sated. She could barely face the thought without flinching. She wasn't a killer… But if she were to be a successful predator, she would have to learn to kill.

She remembered the feel of her teeth sinking into the hard muscle of the first sailor's shoulder. It had hurt at first; her teeth had felt fragile, but she had instinctively defended herself by biting. That felt odd to her now, but then it had felt absolutely right. By rights, she should have broken a tooth, but she hadn't. Instead, it had become much easier to shred flesh as her fear had heightened. Her preternatural senses had warned her that there was more than one man in the room, and her abhorrent fear of men had done the rest.

She had always been afraid of men; since her father had killed her mother in front of her she had feared them. Sometimes, she hated them, too, though it was harder to hate than it was to fear. She had always been a poor reflection of her mother's passionate nature. But passion had gotten her mother killed… And no one had accused her father of the deed, or blamed him for it. She couldn't understand that… Surely it was wrong for a life to be snuffed out so quickly with no one to care…

Yet wasn't that exactly what she had become? Someone who killed to feed? Who ripped and tore like an animal? She shuddered, and felt her eyes burn, but they were dry. She had no tears to shed…

And she had come onto a boat full of men, when she feared men… Why? Simply to be carried away? Or had she sensed them as her rightful prey, and longed to hunt them?

A memory flashed through her head, tethered to nothing that could pierce the black void between her life ages ago and the here and now… Yet it had the feel of a real memory, a terrifying one because it showed her herself as an animal, a seductress, a fiend of hell… A man, chained to a wall in the basement, unable to escape her as she drank him dry… She had kept him alive for weeks…

No! She hadn't! She couldn't do that to anyone, not even a man she had feared and hated like she'd feared and hated her father… And yet the image was so real… She knew the place, she felt the hunger… She knew the man… Giacomo, who had taunted her so often, touching when she didn't want to be touched, promising to betray his caresses to her brother… She had feared a beating… or worse… She had feared what had happened to her mother…

But she hadn't taken Giacomo and made a begging, bloodless, wreck of a man out of him… She refused to believe it. It was only an image that hung in her thoughts, born of the blood she had drunk and her longing for the chase…

She closed her eyes and saw his face: eyes wide with terror… mouth moving, as abject whimpers had leaked from him… face wet with tears and twisted into something broken and bestial. An animal afraid of her power… It held a certain seduction…

She shook it away, lifting her hands to her ears as if she could stop the memory of those terrible, animal cries… And yet, she felt the power of it, knew the thrill of the kill…

It hurt the piece of herself that she could touch inside… Her heart, if not her soul. She had made a vow not to kill. She remembered that; Giacomo's murder was not a real memory… Because if it were, she would have broken her vow, and become a monster…

Hard on the heels of that thought came the decision to test herself. She was not a murderer. She would call one of her victims to her here, and she would prove that she could abstain from blood and death. She knew instinctively that she could call out, and one of them would come… She only had to close her eyes and picture the man in her thoughts, and he would come… She built the image against her eyelids: not the first man, the one she thought she had killed. The second, a softer man, who had depended on the other two to help him… The one who needed looking after… He had had soft brown hair and lovely dark eyes that had widened as he looked at her. She had wiped his mind of her image, even as she had drunk his blood… But she couldn't help wondering if he had thought her beautiful…

How she had changed from the shivering, starving rat that had circled the Grand Canal, looking for food… With her eyes pressed shut, she lifted her arms and called out to him in her mind. He would come, and she would prove she wasn't a killer… She had to prove that she wasn't a killer…


	6. Chapter 6

Patterson woke suddenly, startled by the merest whisper of sound. He'd always been a light sleeper, and the throbbing ache in his arms just made it more difficult to sleep. He swung his legs over the edge of the bunk and sat up, looking around for what had disturbed him.

In the eerie gloom of the darkened room, Dave Briggs shuffled toward the door, scraping his slippered feet against the floor like an old man. Sleepwalking, maybe, thought Pat couldn't say he'd ever done so before. Nice guy, Briggs was, but he shouldn't have been out of bed; he'd lost so much blood that Doc had called for blood donors, and his throat still looked a little like raw meat; Pat was surprised that Briggs and Ski were alive at all…

He swallowed hard and shook the thought away. Ski would make it; of course, he would. Doc was the best in the Navy. Both the guys would make it. Pat slid out of his bunk and crossed the floor, reaching out to tug Briggs gently to a stop. "Come on, Dave. Let's get you back into bed."

Briggs' head swung toward him, eyes wide and unfocused. His voice came out on a whimper of fear. "She's calling me. I have to go…"

Okay, that was odd… Aside from the fact that the only possible female on board was the one who had attacked them, no one – male or female – was calling anyone here… Pat decided Briggs was in the grip of a particularly vivid nightmare; dreams didn't have to make sense… He hoped Briggs wouldn't struggle. He didn't have the strength in his wounded arms to stop the man from leaving Sick Bay. A concerned glance at the clock told him that the XO or the skipper would stop in soon on their late-night rounds. Most likely the XO would put in an appearance first, since the skipper went the opposite way round the boat, and Sick Bay was generally his last stop of the night, while typically the XO made it his first. Either of them offered the only real chance of help, since Doc McKenzie had finally been convinced to get some much-needed sleep and John…

Pat looked around in alarm, his heartbeat skyrocketing. John was supposed to be in charge here; how could he have forgotten that? And where was the corpsman? He should have been helping Pat get Briggs back in his bunk, but he was nowhere to be seen…

Pat's gaze finally found John crumpled on the floor beside Briggs' now-empty bunk. "Dave, what did you do to John?" He released his friend's arm, and started toward the unconscious corpsman, wondering how on Earth, Briggs had managed – in his condition – to overpower John…

Briggs shoved him hard and Pat tumbled to the floor, unable to break his fall with his injured arms. Bruised and shaken, he labored to his feet as quickly as he could, sensing that there was more to Briggs' resistance than he had first thought. If this was a nightmare, it was a hellish one. He grabbed the man's arm again, both of them moving in slow motion, their painful movements a parody. Tugging weakly on his friend's arm, Pat tried to steer him toward the bunks.

But Briggs went berserk; there was no other word for it. He swung around with a clenched fist and caught Pat in the eye. Pleading, terrified brown eyes seemed at odds with the writhing fury of Briggs' body. He clearly wasn't in control of his own muscles. He struggled and punched and kicked like a man possessed, and all the while words dribbled almost mindlessly from his mouth. "Don't make me do this… Please, I don't want…" Pat didn't think the words were addressed to him, but he hardly knew who they could be addressed to in this room empty of anyone but patients… "Stop it! Stop it!" He screamed the last two words as his flailing hands found the surgery tray. Ignoring the clatter of instruments against the deck, he lifted the heavy tray with superhuman strength and swung it at Pat.

Backpedaling, Pat flung an arm up to protect his face. The impact against his stitches stole his breath away. As he staggered backwards, he heard running footsteps and thought with relief that help had come.

Mr. Morton jerked open the infirmary door as Pat reeled backward, and took in the situation at a glance. On the move before Pat could recover from Briggs' attack, he ran toward the crewman, quick as an adder striking. As if sensing his presence, the sailor spun, whirling the heavy tray through the air. Mr. Morton dodged it easily and clamped a hand on Briggs' arm, twisting sharply. The tray clattered to the floor. Sobbing, Briggs collapsed against the officer, as if defeated. "Let me go, let me go, she's calling…" The plea fell on deaf ears. Mr. Morton kept a firm hand on Briggs, but turned his attention to Pat.

"Are you okay?" He accepted Pat's breathless assurance with a frown. "You're bleeding…"

Before the words died away in the silence, Briggs exploded into violence. With a scream of despair, he balled his free hand into a fist, connecting solidly with Mr. Morton's nose and knocking him back in a stagger. Still screaming wordlessly, Briggs surged forward, shoving the officer hard into the wall. Mr. Morton raised his hands to stave off the blows, but he was half-stunned, and Briggs got in under his guard. A sharp crack heralded the impact of the officer's head against the bulkhead. As the XO slithered to the floor in a boneless heap, Pat cried out in shocked surprise… Briggs had attacked an officer… He couldn't wrap his head around that, but he made himself move, made himself intercept Briggs, only to be slammed breathlessly against the door facing. Briggs flashed past him, and was gone, moving much faster than a man in his condition should, screaming like a maniac.

Pat sagged against the door facing, cradling his bleeding arm against his chest and tried to find the breath and the strength to call for help…


	7. Chapter 7

Lee surged through the Sick Bay door into chaos. Chip was on his feet, snapping orders, but blood trickled from his nose in a thin stream and Will McKenzie – bleary-eyed, with dark bags under his eyes – tried to hold an ice pack against the back of the XO's head; difficult to do, since Chip was on the move, pacing between John, sitting on Briggs' abandoned bunk and Pat, tended to by Frank, who looked shaken.

"What happened here?" Lee barked at his friend, as three sailors brushed past him with hurried apologies and raced down the hall, galvanized into action by Chip's orders.

Chip turned toward him, and Lee got a look at the angry bruise spreading across his nose. "Briggs went berserk. We don't know why, but he's roaming the boat right now. I've started a search for him…" He hissed sharply as Will slapped the ice pack against the knot on the back of his head. "Ow! Will…"

"Don't you start with me, commander!" Will spat the words out in exasperated frustration. "I already have one patient running around doing God knows what damage to himself and anyone else he happens to meet. Patterson's popped his stitches, and John was out for at least ten minutes and probably has a mild concussion. Be still!" he snapped irritably as Chip shifted again to send him a frozen glare. "So do you have a concussion, and a possible broken nose, and I have had maybe two hours of sleep in the last twenty-four hours. So do not mess with me." He grabbed Chip's arm and forcibly steered him toward a chair.

Chip didn't resist, but otherwise ignored Will to continue his report, such as it was. "I'm afraid we'll have to consider Briggs as violent. I've put the COB in charge of the search, because Will here has been throwing his weight around." The words were ice-cold, but there was a faint gleam of amusement in the blue eyes. Will snorted in exasperation as he tried to stop the XO's nosebleed.

"I'll ask Chief Sharkey to report to me." Lee headed for Pat, concerned at the sailor's white face, but tossed words at Chip over his shoulder. "Looks like you're Will's for the next twenty-four hours…"

"Count on it," Will said grimly. "I don't think it's broken, commander. I'll have to X-ray that hard head of yours to see how much damage you've done to your skull."

"Twenty-four hours, Will. That's all I can give you." Chill determination hardened Chip's voice. Lee glanced at him, and their eyes met as the XO continued. "I can't afford to be down. The boat needs all of us in working order."

True to form, Will didn't back down. Chip rarely gave him trouble, but the doctor was used to dealing with Lee. The captain knew that Will would prevail, if he found it necessary. "We'll see. After the X-ray, commander."

Lee turned his attention to Pat. Crouching by the sailor's chair, he watched as Frank's needled laid down new stitches to close the ugly gash in Pat's arm. "How bad?"

"Not too bad, skipper." Pat's answer was stoic, but his white face gave his statement the lie. Still, he gamely tried to make a joke. "Gotta watch Doc's instrument tray. You don't want to mess with it."

Lee smiled and laid a hand on Pat's shoulder. "That's two we owe you, Pat."

Pat shook his head wearily. "I didn't do anything, sir. I couldn't stop Briggs, and I couldn't even help John or Mr. Morton." He winced as Frank made another stitch. "I was pretty useless, sir." His words and the tone of his voice betrayed his misery.

"Nonsense," Lee said sharply. "You did your best. And if it weren't for you, we wouldn't have been able to instigate a search so quickly. Don't go thinking you're worthless…"

He didn't have a chance to continue, interrupted when Chief Sharkey burst through the door, his face haggard, his eyes bleak. "Sir!" His voice, raw and hoarse, drew all eyes; glancing hesitantly from Chip to Lee, he made his report to the air between them, as if uncertain which of them to address. Summoning a semblance of calm he clearly didn't feel, he steadied his voice; his clenched hands were an indicator of the turmoil he felt. "We found Briggs, sir, under a ladder on B deck." He swallowed with difficulty. "He's dead, sir."

In the silence that greeted this revelation, Will's soft curse was clearly audible. "Damn it…" The doctor busied himself poking and prodding the knot on Chip's head, hiding his expression, but he bit his lips as he worked, and Lee could clearly tell what he was thinking.

Best not to draw attention to it though. Instead, Lee barked a command at Sharkey. "Details, COB! Describe exactly what you found." Closing his eyes, he waited, busily filling in the details as Sharkey spoke.

"He was lying face-up under the ladder, sir. I don't think he fell… He was completely under the ladder, as if he'd been dragged there. I didn't see any blood, but his throat…" The chief's voice held a haunted tone; the scene had clearly rattled even the hardened Sharkey. "He looked like some kind of wild animal had ripped his throat out…"

"But there was no blood?" Chip's voice struck into the silence, asking the question that Lee needed an answer to. The captain opened his eyes and caught his XO's gaze. The complete lack of the blood that should have accompanied an injury such as the one described merely confirmed their theory… But Lee could see that Chip still had trouble accepting something so far-fetched. Vampires had no place on a submarine, or indeed anywhere outside of a book…

Sharkey, out of the loop for once, nodded slowly, thinking about what he had seen. "He must have been killed elsewhere, sir, and taken to the ladder. There was no blood at all, and there should have been. He must have bled out in something less than a minute with that wound…" He pressed his lips together, a clear signal that his shock had turned to anger. "Briggs was going to be a good man, sir. Ski and Pat…" He glanced aside into Pat's eyes and didn't finish his sentence, but Lee knew what he would have said. Patterson and Kowalski had been enthusiastic about Briggs' work; he was smart and quick, and willing to take direction as needed. The two senior ratings had quickly taken him under their wings so to speak, and he had benefitted from the association. Hard enough that one of their men was dead; worse for Pat, who was worried about one friend and now knew that another was dead… He turned instinctively toward the sailor, but Chip spoke first, clearly on the same wavelength.

"Not your fault, Pat. You did your best. If anyone failed Briggs…" The XO bit the words off and shook Will's ministering hands away. "Sorry, Will. I have a million things to do. I promise, when this is over…"

Will interrupted immediately, slapping a hand against Chip's shoulder to keep him down. "Not when this is over, commander. Right now. If you keel over from a concussion, that is not going to make anything better."

Chip drew breath in for a protest, but stopped when Lee shook his head warningly. It wouldn't do to upset Will any further. He would be feeling Briggs' loss, and that would likely translate to pushing too hard. Lee weighed the consequences, always aware of the memory of his father's demise at the back of his mind. Captain Benjamin Crane had suffered a concussion aboard his ship, the destroyer Maitland, while she was at sea. It had been deemed minor, but three days later, he was dead of a subdural hematoma that hadn't been detected… Lee had been ten years old when the very polite Naval officer had come to the door to break the news to his mother… He had never made a decision in his career that he didn't feel his father looking over his shoulder, but the lesson of how the older Crane had died was a lesson he had learned very well; head injuries were serious business no matter how minor they seemed. "We'll rub along until tomorrow without you, Mr. Morton. Will's right, a head injury could be very serious indeed." He softened the blow with a rueful smile, sensing Chip's silenced protest, as he turned to Will. "Keep me posted, Will. We really can't afford to lose any more men. How's Ski?"

He could almost feel the sudden hush as everyone quieted to listen. Will, too, must have sensed their concern, because he shot a glance around the room as he answered. "His breathing is steady, heart rate better… No signs of returning consciousness yet, but I think he's improving."

"Good to hear, Doc." Sharkey's voice, gruffer than usual, probably hiding emotions he had no wish to betray. Turning, the COB headed for the door. "Don't you worry, Mr. Morton. I'll head up the search, personally. We'll find this bitch before she strikes again."

Judging from the look on Chip's face, he wasn't reassured. Lee stifled a smile and crooked his finger at his XO. "A word, Chip."

Chip glanced at Will with narrowed eyes, and the doctor backed off a little. He rose and crossed to Lee's side, dropping his voice so that no one would hear his protest. "I'm fine. And you need me…"

"I need you here," Lee interrupted, lowering his own voice. "She lured Briggs out of Sick Bay, and we have no idea how. You're the only one in this room besides me who has any idea what we may be facing. I don't want her coming after Pat or Ski…" He laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You're better than any watch dog. Keep an eye on things here."

For a moment, Chip's gaze was skeptical; he shot a glance at Pat and his eyes narrowed. Pat clearly could not defend himself; Ski was completely vulnerable. John and Will were used to restraining recalcitrant sailors, but they were no fighters… Lee wasn't lying, and it was clear that Chip was realizing that. Someone needed to be here to watch over things, because this creature, whatever she might be, appeared to prey on the vulnerable… Chip's presence here would ease Will's medical sensibilities, but he would also provide perhaps the best chance of protection these men would have. He sighed and met Lee's gaze. "Guard duty is hardly my specialty, but I'll do my best."

Lee nodded and turned away. Time to apprise the admiral of what had happened here. Another man lost, and another man down… The news was not good. Lee wondered how long before this thing struck again… And would they be able to prevent her attack?


	8. Chapter 8

Will McKenzie turned his head to look out over Sick Bay from his glassed-in office. Most of his patients were easy at the moment. Ski and John slept heavily. Pat tossed and turned a little, his discomfort plain; he'd had the strongest pain killer Will had on board, short of a dose of morphine, but his injuries would make sleep difficult. Chip Morton had refused any medication at all, which was probably just as well, and had chosen to sit in a chair, watching the room as if he were on guard… The X-rays hadn't shown any significant damage, but Will was only too well aware of the trickiness of head injuries. He had specialized in head trauma, and could quote case after case where the victim hadn't even lost consciousness yet died of complications hours or even days later. He knew of cases where the mandatory rest period of three weeks hadn't been observed, leading to relapses and other serious complications. It wouldn't happen on Seaview, and it wouldn't happen on his watch. These men were the cream of the crop; he'd never worked with a better crew. He wouldn't lose one without a fight…

Not that he was likely to lose this one; there were only two people of Will's acquaintance who were more stubborn than Lt. Commander Chip Morton. He rarely gave Will problems; he was a survivor, if ever there was one, and he would fight just as hard for life as Will would… He generally followed Will's orders to the letter, wanting to be back on his feet as soon as possible, and realizing that the quickest path to recovery was to do whatever Will asked of him… But if he got it into his head that he was needed elsewhere, Will doubted that he could prevail against that stubborn temperament… He had been afraid he was going to have a fight on his hands, this evening, but whatever Captain Crane had said had made an impression; Will was grateful for that…

Commander Lee Crane was one of the two who were more stubborn than Chip. If Lee had made it first to Sick Bay and been on the receiving end of Briggs' violence, Will really would have had a fight. Sometimes, it made him angry that the captain would so carelessly ignore his own issues. He was one of the few on board who understood the danger of a head injury, no matter how minor, but he would go about his own business without a word to anyone, expecting Will to say nothing. Their battles left Will exhausted and irritable, and yet, he liked the young man immensely. Lee Crane had a certain integrity; he would only go so far, even on ONI missions, even for the sake of his country. He could be trusted to do the right thing, even if everyone around him was not. Even if he only had a hazy idea of what the right thing was… His moral compass was – in its own way – as strong and unfaltering as Chip Morton's… For all their differences, both in their approach to life and in their personalities, they were strikingly alike in many ways… If only Lee were a better patient…

But the champion mule on this boat was Harry himself… He was the worst because he rarely lost his temper, but instead marshaled logical, scientific arguments that Will could rarely refute. When Will refused to listen to his reasoning or refuted it soundly with his own arguments, Harry would then pull rank without remorse, and walk out. If he were unable to walk out for whatever reason, then he would take his frustration out on anything and everything that moved around him… He was the worst patient Will had ever had. Smiling ruefully, he remembered the first time he had met Harry. Captain Nelson, he'd been then, and recovering from a gunshot that had come to close for comfort. Harry had struggled and shouted and refused attention… He'd marshaled arguments, and turned grimly silent when Will had refused to acknowledge them. He had demanded to be released immediately, and even gotten up off his bunk and tried to leave the infirmary. It wasn't until Captain Jiggs Stark had turned up and talked quietly with him, that Harry had at last given in and reluctantly allowed himself to be treated. Will had cursed him silently every time he'd erupted into rebellion, which was at least once a day… But when it was all over and done with, Harry had been charmingly grateful and somehow they had become friends. How that friendship had been forged into a strong and unbroken bond between them in spite of Harry's mulishness was probably due to the admiral's undeniable charm and Will's natural inclination to like everyone…

Harry had been down about an hour after Lee had left to talk to Chip privately. Will thought he'd seen a firearm change hands, and was sure of it later, when he saw Chip shift his arm as if to settle the gun more comfortably in its holster. He was carrying concealed tonight, which said that he and Lee and Harry thought there was a chance that the woman would make for the patients in Sick Bay, rather than take on men who were at one hundred percent. It made sense, and spoke volumes for the reason that Chip had accepted his imprisonment here for twenty-four hours with more equanimity than Will had expected. He was playing watch dog. But Will wouldn't argue the point. If it kept the man under his eye while he watched for any consequences from that head injury, Will wouldn't quibble at all.

He shivered, wondering why the room seemed darker… As if the shadows were clustering closer and closer…

A foolish fancy. Will shook his head to clear it of the cobwebs and glanced again at his patients. Odd… Patterson was still tossing and turning, but now he shivered and clutched at the sheets as if trying to shield himself from something. Chip, uncharacteristically, had fallen asleep in his chair, and was breathing much too quickly as if some unseen, unknown terror stalked him. John, too, writhed in his bunk, tormented by nightmares. Only Ski escaped unscathed from the heightened tension…

Will frowned, pushing away the shuddering dread that stalked his own waking thoughts, concerned for his patients. He rose, anxious to check on them, but as he reached for the door, he shivered as the temperature in his tiny office plummeted. Something terrible was here; something was very wrong… His hand closed on the door handle, but it seemed as if his fingers had gone numb, and when he looked down at the handle, he found that he couldn't see his hand for the shadows. Even worse, he knew that something was watching him from those shadows, watching and assessing him. He made his fingers turn the handle, and the door swung open. He could no longer see past the door into Sick Bay, however. The shadows had gathered as if a storm were coming. He heard a low moan and realized with a shock that it was his own voice, whimpering as if he were terrified. With a frown, he stood up straight and walked into the gathering shadows, refusing to be afraid, refusing to back down. His patients needed him…

He felt the touch of a hand on his arm, smelled a strange, feminine perfume drift around him… Then he knew nothing more…


	9. Chapter 9

_He was alone in a dark place, but every instinct warned him that danger threatened. The very shadows seemed alive with whispers and rustles of movement. Only he was frozen in place, paralyzed by fear… Dread overwhelmed all his ONI training, and froze Lee Crane to the deck like a hypnotized rabbit unable to flee as some unknown predator crept closer…_

_ "Son…" A voice he had almost forgotten, a breath in his ear. His father had died when he was ten years old. There was no possible way Captain Benjamin Crane could be here, now…_

_ But here he was, stepping into Lee's line of sight, immaculately clad in the dress whites he'd been buried in at the end of summer some twenty-five or thirty years ago. Every lovingly remembered line of his face was clear and distinct. "Son, you've been trained for this." The words carried a note of command that Lee responded to instantly, stiffening to attention. Shaken loose by the rebuke, his mind began to race, thinking of ways to break free of this darkness._

_ His father turned away from him, toward the shadows that cowered from his commanding presence, just as the monsters of Lee's childhood had cowered. But somehow, Lee knew it wouldn't last. This was only a breathing space, a moment to gather himself together._

_ "Wake up, son!"_

His father's voice, razor-sharp, in full officer's bellow, carried Lee out of sleep. For a moment, he lay, listening to the dying echo of that much-loved voice; then dread drove him out of his bunk to turn on every light in his cabin. Even the sudden blaze of brightness couldn't ease his disquiet. Something was wrong with his boat…

_Always listen to your ship, son. She'll let you know when danger threatens…_

The voice was as clear as if Benjamin Crane were standing here, once again giving those words of advice as he gave Lee the captain's tour of the destroyer, Maitland, as proud of that ship, fresh from the shipyard, as Lee was of Seaview. He could almost feel his father's presence here, and found it somehow comforting. It was odd the way he never felt alone when he was in the greatest danger of his life. His father's voice always breathed words of advice in his ear. Words of advice that Lee had never ignored. Seaview was loudly telling him that something was wrong; he strode to the door, determined to discover what it was…

*She looked down at her prisoner, shivering a little at her audacity. He was not one of the men she had feared and hunted tonight. Both of the men she had stalked had had a protector; a bright guardian who had forced her to flee, gathering the shadows around her.

So she had gone after the one who kowtowed to them, the short, stocky man with the chevrons on his sleeve, but he, too, had a protector… She had known then that she would have to be careful, that they had begun to be armored against her…

So when she had found him, sitting alone in his office, and realized that he was vulnerable, she had acted in desperation… And now she regretted it. He wasn't like the others. There was no reason to fear him. He wasn't dangerous, and unlike the others to whom she was drawn despite her fear, she wasn't afraid of him… He had offered her no harm, and she didn't think he could.

But they respected him, in a way that she understood only too well. If she wanted to draw one of them to her, perhaps this way was best. But she was hungry again, and she hated to feed on someone she had no reason to fear…

She'd wanted the one who looked like her brother, wanted him desperately. Memories of her brother seared her soul; he had been cruel to her after her father's death, locking her in for hours at a time, refusing food and water until she bent to his will. He had wanted her to marry a man older than her father with stinking breath, and palsied hands… She had only escaped because the plague had come, and she had fallen ill like hundreds of others…

So he had sent her to the Plague Island, where the doctors wore the plague masks, their features hidden behind the strange bird-like beaks, and she had grown worse and worse until they had carted her to the burial pit, before she was even dead… Tossed upon the brittle bodies of those who had gone before her, she shivered and sweated by turns, her lips clamped together so that she wouldn't moan and cough like the others around her did… She could hear them die, one after the other, their death cry rattling in their throats as the breath left their bodies…

She lay there for three days before the pit was full and they began to toss the dirt in on her… By then she was unbearably hungry and blue with the cold. Her fingers – numb and shaking, like the hands of the old man her brother was forcing her to marry – cramped as the clods of dirt fell on her, and she didn't even have the strength to cry out and warn them that she was still alive…

Instead, she had succumbed to the blackness, praying for death…

And yet, she hadn't died… Instead, she had clawed her way out of the ground, and crept about in the darkness, starving and hating and hurting… Somehow she had found a way across the channel that separated the island from Venice, and walked the streets of the city, shrouded in darkness…

A memory she hadn't had before; she was beginning to remember what had happened to her in the blackness of forgotten years. She wasn't sure that she wanted to remember, and yet… And yet, the anticipation excited her like nothing had for many days. Could it be that sailing away from Venice, from the city that had been her home all her life had shaken loose the part of her mind that she had closed off?

She had prayed for death in the plague victims' burial pit. She watched as the man she had taken began to shake himself awake, and smiled… "You will pray for it, too," she promised him in her soft voice as his eyes opened…

She couldn't see her reflection in his pupils; wondering what he saw when he looked at her, she closed in to feed.

* signifies a scene change


	10. Chapter 10

_A languid feeling stole over him, soporific and somehow terrifying; fighting it, he looked around at the crew on duty in the Control Room, wondering how he had come to be there, when he was supposed to be in Sick Bay…_

_ The crew on watch were slumped over their stations oblivious… The two sailors at the helm draped over their controls, and the COB at his station behind them had pitched forward over one of their seats. Briggs, at radar, lay face up on the radar screen, eyes wide and sightless, dull in death, his throat ripped out. Ski slumped over the sonar screen, bleeding and unconscious._

_ A strange foreboding fear gripped Chip as he noted station after station unmanned, but lethargy held him in place as the shadows shifted, drawing closer. He could feel eyes watching him, stabbing him like a butterfly on a pin, wings weakly fluttering. Powerless to move, he watched, fascinated, almost hypnotized as the shadows moved closer…_

_ "Sir."_

_ He vaguely recognized the voice. But Yeoman Allbright was eight months dead, his fault, no matter how the situation was dissected. She couldn't be speaking to him now…_

_ "Sir, you have to wake up."_

_ He blinked, confused when she stepped in front of him, her form bright but indistinct; surely her hair had been brown, and not this bright golden halo that drove the shadows back?_

_ "Sir, please you need to wake up." Her voice insisted, a respectful murmur, and her hesitant touch on his arm was cold. The shadows were advancing again, dimming her outline; her form seemed to dwindle, but her voice strengthened into an unexpected edge of command. "You have to wake up, NOW!"_

Chip jerked awake, hearing the echo of Yeoman Allbright's voice as it lingered in the air. His heart beat wildly, and for a moment he struggled to breath as the dream dissipated. Putting out a shaky hand, he gripped the arm of his chair tightly and sent up a silent prayer of gratitude that the shadows had receded…

Odd to be dreaming of Miss Allbright now. He tried to remember what she had said in the dream, but all that came to him was the sense of languid terror roused by shadows and the relief and gratitude associated with Miss Allbright's fading image…

He rose from the chair, and looked around Sick Bay, wondering guiltily how long he'd been asleep. Patterson tossed and turned in some harrowing dream; Ski lay quietly, still pale as a ghost, though his breathing seemed easier. A sign that he was getting better, perhaps? John, too, was awake, his eyes dilated in the darkness. "You should be in bed, sir," he said softly.

Chip shook his head and paced around the room, restless and inexplicably uneasy. Something was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, but the atmosphere jangled with tension, stringing his nerves tight. A heightened air of danger pressed down heavily, a tangible presence in the space. He glanced toward the glass-paneled windows of Will's office and frowned when he didn't see the doctor. "Where's Will?" He almost barked the words at John, suddenly realizing what his own inability to stay awake might have cost them.

John sat up gingerly, and looked toward the office as well. His eyes widened, and his face paled. "I don't know. He was working. Then I fell asleep…" He paused, then spread his hands helplessly. "I don't know, sir…"

_Find Will._ The imperative jolted through every nerve. Chip strode for the door.

*Unable to have the one she desperately wanted, she had turned to the second man, the fair-haired one, so reminiscent of the Scandinavians that had frequented her father's shop. But he, too, had been protected. She had been inclined to be contemptuous of the woman who stared her down, but spirits were powerful, and this one was no exception…

She held her prey closer as she fed, feeling him shudder in shock and horror. His blood was warm against her skin, hot and spicy in her throat. She was surprised that he struggled against her. She hadn't thought that he would have the strength. Gently, she caressed his skin with cold fingers. She could be gentle when she chose, but there was no doubt that feeding was messy… She had tried not to damage this one, as she had the one she'd killed…

She could not admit except to herself that she was afraid of the spirit protectors this crew of men had… The older man who had looked so like her brother as well had an authoritative air that frightened her. He reminded her a little of her father, though he had not had the same cruel set to his lips. She thought he would have been a formidable man, when he was living. He was even more formidable now, staring her down with that arched eyebrow and the stony glare. She had kept away from the man who reminded her so strongly of her brother.

She had thought the woman a pale, weak spirit, unable to protect her charge, but she had underestimated the spirit. That woman had blazed with a light that had threatened to chase away the shadows that protected her. She had had no choice but to retreat… Light did not injure her, but it terrified her; light could reveal all her flaws, all her most secret sins. She hated the light… And so she had turned away from the woman with the soft voice and the beautiful eyes, who had protected the cold, fair Scandinavian she had sought.

Her luck, then, that she had found this one, who had no protector. She tightened her grip on him, as he shifted against her embrace. She didn't want to kill. She told herself that, but she wasn't sure that she believed it. She had killed the other one. She had even felt a sharp thrill when his heart had ceased to beat. It had made her feel powerful. Perhaps if she killed more, she would eventually become more powerful than the spirits who protected her most dangerous enemies…

Shuddering she lifted her head. She had not wanted to kill. It had been her intention to prove that she didn't have to. But she had been unable to stop… She had ripped his throat out with her teeth and hungrily, ravenously drank the blood that spurted from his arteries and veins. All the warm, lovely blood…

She dropped her prey and retreated, hating herself. She should not want to kill. These people had done nothing to her. What sort of animal was she? With a howl of despair, she hid her face in her hands…

*Signifies a scene change


	11. Chapter 11

Will felt her retreat, stifled a moan when the floor came up hard beneath his back. She'd dropped him and gone away… Why? It didn't really matter. Perhaps now was his chance… if he had the strength for it. Carefully, he levered himself up to his knees, not liking how his vision blurred and blackened around the edges. Significant blood loss, but not enough to make him lose consciousness. He didn't know if he was still bleeding. His skin tingled as if ants were crawling all over him, but he couldn't distinguish the wet stickiness of blood…

He struggled to his feet, far too slowly. His head swam, and he hardly knew where he was… There was a shape in the middle of the room, and he could tell that its surface undulated a little like waves in a pond. The bilge room? Was that the moon pool, where they pumped out the bilge water? He wasn't sure, because thankfully it had never been his responsibility to come down here and do that chore. But if he were in the bilge room, he knew where he was vaguely. Down in the belly of the boat where few people would think to look for him. If he were going to escape, it would be up to him. Rescue probably wouldn't come in time…

A grim thought, but he shut it away and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. It was harder than he had thought… Blood loss made him dizzy and disoriented, and he had to be careful not to stumble into the moon pool… Why did they call it the moon pool? What was behind that odd name? He shook his head and moved slowly toward the door, praying that wherever she was in the room, she would ignore him just long enough.

And where was she in the room? He listened as he pushed onward. He could hear no breathing; odd… But he heard what sounded like weeping. Why would she be crying? Was it despair, or was it rage? He blinked away the fog, and saw the door, a blur across the floor, impossibly close, impossibly far away… If he could only reach it and slip through… Right now, he doubted he had the strength. But he had never known how to give up; he fought for his patients with everything he had… Every loss was like a knife to the heart. But he never gave up fighting; he wouldn't quit now…

He heard the movement, before he saw her, flashing across his vision to stand between him and the door. She was beautiful, in a strange and terrible way, her eyes glittering, her face dead-pale… He retreated from her, reaching out for a weapon, anything he could use to keep her away from him. His hand struck against the wall; no help here. And he didn't like her smile, as if he were some sort of prey that she could devour…

She spoke to him; her voice was deep and throaty, like Sadie's voice, but this woman wasn't remotely like his wife. He couldn't understand her words. Some foreign language, perhaps Italian? There were several officers and men who probably could have translated, but none of them was here… Her voice was strangely compelling, drawing him toward her. Will resisted it. That way lay only death and destruction. He looked around, blinking against the fog in his mind. Now he could feel a trickle of blood ooze down his neck across his shoulder, and shuddered. There had to be something nearby that he could defend himself with.

He stumbled, and sat down hard on the edge of the pool. God, one more step, and he'd have tumbled into it. The moon pool connected directly to the ocean, and they were far too deep… He shuddered and watched her draw nearer, not sure how he was going to get out of this one…

But the only way forward was to resist… He watched her come, wondering what was next…

_*Sharkey felt numb and frozen, strung tight, as the shadows drew nearer. He knew instinctively that he was being stalked; ominous whispers in a language he could not understand surrounded him. He couldn't tell from which direction danger approached. It felt like it was all around him._

_ He put his hands out and felt the metal bulkheads on each side of him; he was in a corridor on Seaview, but he might as well have been in a cave for all he could see… His worse fear was blindness. His sister had gone blind after a bout with scarlet fever. Her blank eyes had haunted his nightmares for years; he visited her every chance he got, big brother looking out for baby sister, but she had long since overcome her handicap to live a happy fulfilled life. His fear was – if the same thing happened to him – he wouldn't be able to recover, he wouldn't have the strength she'd had… _

_ Shuddering, he eased a step forward, feeling for Seaview's deck beneath his feet, afraid there would only be a yawning chasm. And still something in the shadows watched him and laughed…_

_ "Wake up!" Pugnacious and demanding, the voice rang out, chasing back the shadows. With relief, Sharkey found he could see again. Odd that the voice that saved him belonged to COB Curly Jones, who had preceded him, and whose death had guaranteed his position here. _

_Curly had recommended him to the admiral, and on the strength of that recommendation, Sharkey had joined the other CPOs on the boat. He'd gotten himself into trouble once or twice, unwilling to be ordered around by a man who was barely out of diapers… But he'd learned to respect Mr. Morton, and he'd never had any problems with Captain Phillips…_

_ He felt himself moan as the shadows began to draw closer once again. But then Curly Jones stepped in front of her, facing the shadows with a snarl, every bit as pugnacious as his voice. "You'll never make a COB, clown, if you don't WAKE UP!"_

The shout seemed to hang on the air, as Sharkey jerked away, hitting his head on the top of his bunk. What in the heck…? Shuddering, he leaped out of bed, and ran around, turning on all the lights in his tiny cabin. Oh, the guys would have a field day with this… Sharkey afraid of the dark? Man, he'd never live it down, if it got around…

He automatically slid open the closet and took out a clean uniform. No more sleep tonight… Besides, Seaview was singing dirges all around him, quivering and shuddering like a frightened mare. He had to find out what was wrong with her. Pulling on his pants, he threaded a belt through the loops and cinched the belt around his waist. He'd make a stop in Sick Bay first to check on Ski and Pat, but then he would roust out some of the guys and make a search of the boat. Time to find the bitch that held them all hostage and take care of her once and for all. He buttoned the last button on his shirt and nodded to himself. Curly Jones was right; he wasn't worth his salt as a Chief of the Boat, if he couldn't find this woman and put her where she belonged. It was his job, but it was more; it was Seaview's protection, and the protection of everyone aboard her.

*Signifies a scene change


	12. Chapter 12

Looking at her prisoner, wilted down on the raised deck surrounding the small pool of brine, she remembered again the island of plague victims, ministered to by doctors wearing masks that were supposed to protect them… This one was a doctor, too. She remembered one doctor's gloved fingers stroking her heated forehead, speaking to her in a soft voice that failed to hide his melancholy. She had known then that she was going to die…

She felt the shock in every bone, as if she had been struck… As if this one stray memory had somehow opened the floodgates, and all her memories had come tumbling back, assaulting her mind with terrible visions…

She had roamed Venice, until she'd returned again to her father's spice shop… Her brother's shop, now. She had watched him hungrily, but never let him see her, afraid of how he would react. Even then her vision had changed; the red tide flowed under her brother's skin, warming it, giving him a flush that was handsome and appealing to her eyes. He had been a handsome man, her brother. And he had parlayed his looks into a good marriage. She wondered if his wife were happy, or if he made her as miserable as their father had made their mother. She wondered if the woman's fate would be the same as their mother's… Would her brother murder his wife?

She hungered… Shying away from her brother, she wandered the alleyways, trying to eat the bread that was thrown out by their neighbors, even stooping to tearing it away from the rats, but it only made her sick and miserable…

One night, she had found a stillborn child tossed away in the alley like garbage. Its blood was cooling, but she licked at it anyway, swallowing it down, despite the roiling in her stomach. And she hadn't been sick… She knew then what she had become…

The chewing dead… They came back to prey upon their families, their friends, their neighbors, those who had wronged them. Her brother had wronged her: He had tried to force her into marriage with an old, palsied man who had disgusted her… Giacomo had wronged her: he had touched her without her permission and told her he would tell lies to her brother if she ever spoke of it… Her neighbors had wronged her: they had known what her father had done to her mother, but none of them had ever said a word, or even tried to denounce him. She felt joy surge inside her. She had known she could punish them all then…

But she hadn't realized what punishment meant. She hadn't known that it would steal her soul, until she was nothing more than a predator, no better than the men she punished…

She had taken Giacomo, and imprisoned him in the basement of an abandoned house. For weeks, she had fed on him, slowly drinking his blood, weakening him, torturing him with her teeth and her nails, laughing when he begged for mercy. He knew what she was, and there was power in his fear of her… But she had taken too long, and someone had heard Giacomo's screams…

Her brother had come for her with an army of his neighbors. She had taken her toll of them before they ran her to earth. Then they had held her, and bound her in chains, before forcing a brick between her jaws… She could remember being dragged through the streets to her brother's home, being forced to watch as they dug her grave in his basement, where the water came in the flood season… They had laid her in it, wrapped in chains, chewing furiously on the brick that silenced her voice… She had felt the first clods of dirt began to fall, and knew fear. They would bury her here, and she would never be able to break free of the chains…

And then she had known nothing more until the water had flooded in around her, and washed her up onto the steps of the basement, and she had torn free of the ancient rusty chains… How long? How long had she lain there, with the brick in her mouth, desiccating without blood, without life? A handful of years? A century? Longer? How many years had been stolen from her?

Anger filled her… They were all responsible for the things that had been done to her. She hated them all… Her brother led them… Oh, he smiled as if he were different, as if he were changed, but she knew him for what he was. His handsome face and winning ways might fool others, but they could never fool her. No matter how many centuries had past, she recognized her brother on this boat. She knew he would come for her again… He would bury her again if he could… Bury her in the dark embrace of the ocean depths without a qualm, as if she were a criminal…

She had tried for her brother, but that man, so like her father had driven her off. She had tried for his Scandinavian friend, a face she didn't recognize, as beautiful as her brother's face, but in a different way. The woman with her pale face, and the deep longing in her brown eyes had denied her. Her path to the two she hated most had been blocked… So she had tried for their servant, the man with the chevrons on his sleeve… But he, too, had had a powerful protector, a short stocky man with a flattened nose and a strident voice… She had had to abandon the servant, too.

The one she had taken had had no protectors at all. She looked at him again, pleased at how pale he was, at the blood that ran from the wounds on his throat. He would be so easy to kill. And the more she killed, the more powerful she would be. She was done with being hungry. This doctor, this man who had failed to save her, was the only one she could touch. So he would suffer for the rest of them. And then she would begin to plot and scheme. Her brother would die…


	13. Chapter 13

"Mr. Morton!" Sharkey called out to the officer, wondering how the XO had managed to slip Doc McKenzie's watch and get out of Sick Bay. If Sharkey had been a fraction later, he'd have missed the man. "Mr. Morton, sir, you're supposed to be in Sick Bay."

The XO turned back, his eyes narrowed, and the glare he sent Sharkey was so cold, the COB could almost feel ice crystals forming in his blood. "Chief. Doctor McKenzie is missing. Have you seen him?" The words were sharp enough to draw blood. Mr. Morton was always quiet-voiced and calm… If he was snapping out at Sharkey, he must be worried… That didn't bode well…

"I haven't seen him, sir…" Sharkey thought about that. Doc had planned to stay in Sick Bay, but maybe everything had quieted enough that he'd decided to get some sleep, check in later? "In his cabin, sir?"

"I just came from there, Chief."

And the tone of the officer's voice told Sharkey that Doc hadn't been there. If Mr. Morton were concerned about Doc, enough to go looking for him and leave Sick Bay, then something was very wrong. "I can turn out a couple of the boys, sir, we'll start casing the boat. We'll find him." He started to turn away, but something made him stop and wait for instructions. What if that stowaway had somehow taken Doc away, somewhere on this boat? What if that was what Mr. Morton was afraid of? They had all seen what she had done to Ski and Pat and Briggs. Sharkey himself had seen Briggs' body, tossed under that ladder like some abandoned rag doll… He shuddered, and looked to the XO for direction.

"Get Riley, Malone…" Mr. Morton hesitated and thought for a moment. "Crowe, and Alfaro. Meet me down on A deck. We'll start there."

It made sense… The only people who went down into the belly of the boat were those with duty stations there. After that Krueger episode – which Sharkey still didn't understand, and he hoped the admiral **never** found out about the falsified log – some of the guys had been nervous about going down there, even to pump the bilge… But there were important stations down there, and the XO had chivvied them into it, like only he could. The guys had finally settled down, but they still talked about Krueger in soft whispers.

Sharkey shook his head. Now wasn't the time to revisit the Krueger thing. No matter how similar their situation now might be, there were other things here that needed doing. "Aye, sir. Where should we start?"

He knew the XO was thinking that over carefully; he could tell it from the man's expressionless face and stony blue eyes. If it were Sharkey's decision, he'd have said the bilge room, but it wasn't his decision, thank God. It was tricky, because wherever they went first, they were faced with the knowledge that - if she wasn't there – she might be someplace where they wouldn't find her until it was far too late… Doc deserved better than that; Hell, Briggs had deserved better than that. Anyway, he knew the XO would probably come to the same conclusion. It was the least frequented room on the boat. It seemed the logical place for some creepy, blood-drinking, animal-like woman to hide.

And sure enough, Mr. Morton came to the same conclusion. "The bilge room. Get down there as soon as you can. If she's there, I'll need you to help pry Will from her clutches."

If the Doc were still alive… Sharkey thrust that thought away and went to wake the guys. But no sooner had he turned a corner than he almost ran into the skipper, moving purposefully toward Sick Bay, his face a study in determination. Sharkey began to wonder if they'd all had dreams that had made them get up and start looking for trouble. "Sir." He drew himself up straight. "Just going to roust out some of the guys, sir. XO's orders. Doc McKenzie is missing…"

The skipper's eyes blazed. "In his cabin?" He snapped the question out with no attempt to gentle it; he was well and truly peeved, and not bothering to hide it. Pity the thing that might be down on A deck, if the skipper ever got hold of her. He hated losing men like poison. And Doc was a special friend, of both the admiral's and the command team's. They would stop at nothing to get him back safely…

"No, sir. Mr. Morton already checked." Sharkey drew a breath and plunged ahead, eager to inform the captain of their plans. "I'm to wake the guys up and meet him down on deck A at the bilge room, sir. We'll start the search there."

The skipper frowned. "What the hell is he thinking? He has a concussion!" He muttered something under his breath; Sharkey thought he heard the words, _pig-headed fool_, but didn't say anything. The skipper was clearly strung tight. When he and Mr. Morton met, they would sort it out with a minimum of fuss. Besides, though Sharkey kept the opinion to himself, he was pretty well convinced that Mr. Morton **was** pig-headed… So was the skipper, and the admiral… He shook his head and looked back at the skipper intently.

"Where is Mr. Morton now?" Captain Crane's voice was steely, but controlled.

"On his way to the bilge room, sir, so I gotta hurry." Because leaving any of these officers alone for a minute while there was a crisis going on was like throwing gasoline on an open flame. Mr. Morton was generally the safest of them; quiet-like, and not too prone to go off on a wild hare and be all heroic… But this was a bad situation, and there was no telling what would happen…

The skipper stepped aside hastily. "Go. I'll go after Mr. Morton. See that you get down there in double time, COB."

"Aye, sir." Sharkey jolted into a run, brushing past the captain heading for the sailors' quarters. Malone, Riley, Alfaro, and Crowe. Exactly who he would have chosen himself, if he couldn't have Pat and Ski. Well, Riley was still a little green, but he was a good kid in a pinch. He used his head. They would need that if they had to pry three officers away from some blood-drinking bitch… And knowing his officers like he did, Sharkey was sure it would come to that in the end. A hell of a fight, and Seaview triumphant… But at what cost?


	14. Chapter 14

"Tell me again why we're doing this?" Malone dumped an armful of pipe in front of Riley and Crowe.

Riley sighed; he knew the guys weren't new to all this. But they seemed to be having a hard time accepting it. Well, it was weirdsville, he had to admit. Not the kind of thing you expected to meet up with on a submarine deep in the middle of the ocean… "Vampires, man," he explained again patiently. These guys made him feel like a baby sometimes, when things were getting tough on the submarine, but when it came to pop culture stuff, they were clueless. If he hadn't noticed the signs: a woman who appeared and disappeared at will, not enough blood to account for the blood loss suffered by Ski and Briggs, the dreadful atmosphere aboard the boat, as if doom were about to descend on them all… If he hadn't noticed all that, none of these guys – practical, down-to-earth sorts, every one – would have put two and two together and come up with four… He knew he had to be very patient; none of his friends were having an easy time of this.

As he worked at sharpening the end of a pipe with a file, he wondered how the admiral would take it. Nelson was hands down the smartest guy Riley knew. But he was also a scientist. Would he be able to figure this out, or would he think Riley was crazy? "I figure Ski and Pat and Briggs were attacked by a vampire. She drank their blood, and she killed Briggs." He examined his handiwork, showed it to Crowe, then put it on the small stack of sharpened objects on the floor of their quarters. "Garlic probably won't bother her, 'cause she's Italian, but a stake through the heart should take care of her."

"Man, that's just wrong." Alfaro shook his head as he dropped his pile of metal at Crowe's feet. "First that weird German ghost, and now this? Do you think she wants to put the bite on the skipper?"

Riley shuddered. Krueger… Man, Krueger still gave him nightmares. And so did that Lani ghost, too… "I don't know, Al… He's kind of a trouble magnet, so maybe…"

Alfaro and Malone both groaned and said together, "Why do we always have to deal with this screwy stuff?"

Before Riley could come up with an answer, Crowe spoke, mumbling a little around a mouthful of carrot. "Because it's Seaview." He eyed his makeshift stake, nodded, and tossed it onto the growing stack, and snagged another carrot stick from the bag beside him. "Because foreign powers, aliens, and apparently even the undead want to control Seaview. And possibly because the admiral and the skipper are both trouble magnets. Haven't you ever wondered how even aliens always seem to know who Admiral Nelson is? Know him by name even! Doesn't that tell you something?" He considered the stack of pointy objects, chewing thoughtfully. "You think we got enough, Stu?"

Riley studied their stash and sighed. "Maybe… It only takes one to stake a vampire, but we all have to be armed if we're going to hunt her."

"I don't know…" Malone glanced at the door speculatively. "I don't think the skipper will like us running around the boat with sharp pointy objects…"

"It's the XO I'm worried about," Alfaro chimed in. "Can't you just imagine what he'd say if he saw us carrying stakes around?"

"He wouldn't say anything." Riley shuddered. "He'd just give us that look… You know the one…" He'd been on the receiving end of that look just once, but it was once too often. Man, he respected the XO, but he sure was square… And if he were a superhero, his superpower would be like Icy Gaze, or something… Way scarier than a vampire, in fact… "I wonder if that look would work on the vampire?"

The other three guys contemplated that. Crowe frowned dubiously as he reached for another carrot stick. "I don't know… She's undead, man. Like invincible… I bet cold just doesn't bother her." He popped the carrot stick in his mouth contemplatively. Man, Crowe was always eating… What was with that?

Malone nodded judiciously. "Yeah. She'd probably like laugh in his face or something. And wow, I sure wouldn't want to be there when that happened!"

Alfaro frowned at all of them. "The XO would take her out! Come on, guys, you know that he and the skipper would die before they let anything undead take over this boat!"

Riley stuck up for his own personal hero. "Hey, they wouldn't have to do anything. The admiral probably has some surefire way to kill a vampire up his sleeve already!"

"Yeah?" Crowe shook his head. "Then why are we making these stakes?"

Before Riley could give that question the answer it deserved – a royal raspberry - the door opened, and Sharkey catapulted into the room. "Get up, you clowns…" His voice trailed into silence as he stared at the stack of stakes. "What the hell?"

"Vampires, chief." Malone picked up a stake and showed the chief. "We figure if we find her, this will do for her. Riley says you have to stake them."

"Vampires?" Sharkey glared. "What do you think this is? Dracula? Listen up! We're going down to A deck to search for this stowaway. We think she may have Doc. McKenzie…"

"Right," Riley said, taking charge, because he knew all about vampires. Or at least he knew more and was more open-minded than the others. "Get a stake everyone. Chief, you better get one, too. If she's bitten Doc, the only way we can help him is to stake her but good."

Crowe grabbed up two stakes and thrust one at the chief. "Yeah? Why's that?"

"She's probably bitten him already, which means he'll become a vampire, too, unless we can stake her before she kills him, see?" Riley actually wasn't sure if that were true or not. Vampire movies all told that story differently. But no one else around here knew either, so he had to sound authoritative. Hey, at least it was a game plan.

Sharkey took the stake reluctantly, but he favored Riley with a questioning look. "Is this vampire thing on the level?"

Riley shrugged, achieving a far more casual façade than he felt deep down inside. Deep down inside, he was scared to death. "Where did the blood go, chief? I'm telling you, it's a vampire, and to kill a vampire, you gotta stake it."

Sharkey contemplated that for a moment, then sighed. "Better take a couple more of those things, then, because we're meeting the skipper and the XO down there. Knowing them, they're probably already fighting off the vampire."

Not good… Riley shuddered, and scooped up two more stakes. "Let's go, chief. They're gonna need help."


	15. Chapter 15

Admiral Nelson had studied the problem from every angle. After all, they had to have some ideas about how to approach this thing before they set out hunting for it again… So, she hid herself in shadows, manipulated her victims' minds, and drank blood. How to avoid the shadows problem, and make her completely visible and thus vulnerable to attack was a fairly easy problem to solve. He modified one of their flashlights to throw out a more powerful beam, washing the shadows out of every corner of the lab. If it could do that in here, then it wouldn't have any trouble in most of the areas on the boat. He modified as many as he could, so that their search parties could have at least two men each equipped with the more powerful lights. Now, how to shield minds from her manipulation? The last thing he needed was to have men succumb to her suggestions only to get themselves killed. Briggs had gone to her, and Briggs had died… He wouldn't lose another man.

But he was forced to admit that there wasn't time to develop something that would work. He needed to test it and retest it, and revise it, and test it yet again… He needed to implement safeguards that would keep his men from succumbing to any side effects of whatever he came up with. There just wasn't time for that; and Nelson wasn't going to use his men as human guinea pigs.

So on to the blood drinking thing… But he wasn't sure how to prevent that either... If there were something he could arm his men with, something that would be sure to repel her. But he wasn't about to suggest garlic or crucifixes. That would be descending into the realm of the ridiculous. He was a firm believer in the power of faith, but crucifixes to repel an attack? He shook his head.

A memory swam up from the dark pool of his thoughts, and Nelson cocked his head, contemplating it. He wasn't a fan of lurid literature, but he had read Bram Stoker's Dracula... As he recalled, a vampire was staked or beheaded, in order to destroy it. He shook his head at the thought. Beheading made them as bad as terrorists. He wouldn't do that. A stake was a primitive weapon. Surely there was something they could use that was more humane and more effective? He began to ponder what that could be...

His intercom squealed, interrupting his thoughts. With a snarl, Nelson picked up the microphone. "Nelson."

"Dr. McKenzie's missing, sir. I'm taking a group of men to search Deck A." Chip's voice, haggard and hoarse. Clearly unhappy about the situation. Undoubtedly felt it was his fault. Nelson couldn't worry about that now.

"Wait. I have something I want you to test for me when you get down to A deck." He grabbed the modified flashlights. "How long has Will been missing? Do you have some reason to think he's on A deck?"

As good a guess as any, of course, and maybe better than most. There were plenty of places to hide on A deck. But it had been thoroughly searched hours earlier... No guarantee that she wasn't there now, of course. "Where are you?"

"At the aft ladder on B deck, sir."

Probably wanting to hang up the microphone and get down to the deck below. He had that impatient note in his voice. Nelson growled into the microphone again. "Wait. I'll meet you there. Do not go down to A deck without me." The order in his voice was unmistakable. He didn't wait to see if Chip responded. He knew the XO would. Instead, he tossed the microphone down and swung out the door, flashlights in hand, trying not to be anxious about Will. It wouldn't solve the problem; he needed to get on with the searching.

Where was Lee? Probably in his cabin at this hour. Nelson stopped to knock on the cabin door, and waited impatiently for a response. Nothing. With a frown, Nelson called the captain's name. "Lee? Lee, get out here! We have a situation!"

Nothing… Nelson's heart quickened. Lee was missing, too. Where had he gone? Had Chip notified him as well? That made the most sense. The admiral stepped away from the door, and headed aft. His brisk walk turned into a jog, and then into a run. Something was wrong on his boat, and it involved his best friends.

_She's a danger, Harry. You need to find Will fast._

John's voice, but the urgency was as real as his racing heartbeat. If they couldn't get there in time, Will was dead. He wasn't about to lose another friend as he'd lost John…

He rounded a corner and saw Lee ahead of him, arguing with Chip at the head of the ladder. Relief made him slow down and approach them with a little more dignity. "Here." He handed flashlights to the two of them and looked around with a frown. "Where is your party of men?"

"On their way, but we can't afford to wait." Chip grabbed a flashlight and started down the ladder. Lee also took a flashlight, shooting a speaking glance at Nelson, and started down after Chip.

Nelson sighed. That look had told him everything he needed to know. His command team had been arguing over each other's level of involvement in this. Chip's position would be that the captain shouldn't risk himself when there were others who could do the job. Lee's position would be that Chip's head injury – no matter how mild it might be – meant that he shouldn't be placing himself or others at risk…

One thing was sure: like or not, Chip was right. They couldn't afford to wait. Will was in danger… Nelson had to stop to wrap his head around that. Will had the safest position on the boat. Other than the odd emergency dive, he generally stayed out of trouble; his job was to take care of the ones who couldn't or wouldn't avoid that trouble. Nelson cursed under his breath. This creature who had invaded them had highlighted a problem with security he had never thought of… How to guard against things that weren't tangible, weren't foreseeable, and were completely incredible. Vampires? Had did he guard the boat and the men against something like that? Bad enough that it literally drank blood. Even worse that it was apparently female… The last thing they needed was another female predator. They'd dealt with one of those in the past and bested her, but Dr. Pope had left her mark. If she'd had her way, they would have lost a man; there was no way he'd bend to this… this bloodsucker, if he hadn't bent to Dr. Pope. They would get Will back safely…

He went down the ladder after his command team. They hadn't bothered to wait for him; clearly they had a plan of sorts, for they were already at the door to the bilge room, each moving to opposite sides without a word spoken. Chip drew the sidearm the admiral had given him earlier, in Sick Bay. None of them really thought that bullets would bring her down, but they might have enough kick to knock her back long enough for them to find some other way to deal with her. They glanced at the admiral as he came up with them, and slid in behind Lee. He nodded, knowing that whatever plan they had it would be the best they could come up with at short notice.

With a deep breath, Lee twirled the wheel and pulled the door open. Chip darted inside, pistol at the ready. Almost before Lee and the admiral dodged around the door, they heard a shot. As they leaped inside, Nelson saw the woman, illuminated in the bright halo of Lee's flashlight, staggering back, her face a mask of surprise. A hole had opened in her chest, but it didn't seem to faze her. The shot had knocked her backwards, away from Will, who was seated on the floor by the moon pool, dazed but aware. Blood stained his uniform and leaked from a terrible wound on his throat. Nelson swung his own flashlight into play, chasing away the shadows in the room.

The woman – if she was a woman – streaked toward Will, her movement almost a blur under the glare of the lights, but Chip didn't hesitate to fire again. The bullet struck true, shoving her back, and this time, Nelson had time to reach his friend and place himself as a shield in front of the injured doctor.

The woman shrieked at them, a piercing scream that echoed in Nelson's head, indescribable pain. He didn't back down, but he was grateful for the third shot that silenced her, though it didn't slow her down…

"Lee, we need something sharp!" he called to his captain, and saw Lee immediately reach into his pocket. Out came his dive knife, a handsome titanium alloy with a razor-sharp edge. It wasn't long enough to allow him to get her without moving in close… Nelson held his breath as Lee angled around to one side of her, trying to approach without being seen…

But she noticed him anyway, and flew at him, her fingers curved into claws that raked across his face. Lee stumbled back from the force of the attack, and Chip's gun spoke again, sending her reeling.

He felt Will trying to rise, and crouched down beside him. "Don't move, Will. We need to take care of her before we can get you out of here."

"Don't let her bite you…" Will held his hand against his neck, clearly trying to stem the flow of blood. If he had expected his words to surprise Nelson, he was probably confused that they didn't. Will had been in the dark about this thing. Now everyone knew what she was capable of.

"I know… I know, Will. Just take it easy." He reached out, pressing his hand over Will's, adding to the pressure. They had to get the bleeding stopped. He wasn't going to lose another man to this fiend. He wasn't going to lose another friend…

_Watch out… _John's voice, calling a warning. Nelson rose smoothly to his feet, isolating the woman in the glare of his flashlight. She snarled at him, but didn't try to come any closer. Instead, she eyed Lee, clearly resenting him… Why? It wasn't just because of the knife in his hand. There were centuries of hate in her eyes…

Then she reached out toward the bilge pump; the equipment had shed a shadow opposite the glare of the flashlights, and she snatched it in her fingers, spinning it around herself, until he could no longer see her. He swung his light, looking for her, disturbed at her sudden disappearance, then heard Chip cry out.

Both his and Lee's lights found her then, swinging in unison toward the XO. A struggle was illuminated in the glare. She had her hand on the gun, and her mouth was open. It took Nelson a moment to realize that her fangs were tiny, but the blood that dripped from them told the tale. As the combined blaze of the lights struck her, she screamed, and gripped the gun in both hands, wrapping her fingers around Chip's wrist. He twisted away from her, bringing his left hand into play, delivering a stunning blow to her chest. It would have brought a full- grown man down, but it didn't faze her at all. She laughed at him, twisted his wrist savagely, pulling a reluctant cry from him. The snap of the bone was audible. Then the gun came away in her hand, and she flung it away from her contemptuously.

But Chip wasn't down and out by a long shot. As Lee moved quickly to his aid, he pulled out his own dive knife, a twin to Lee's, and drove it into her shoulder. She fell away from him with a cry, and for a moment, she looked like a vulnerable teenager, her hand covering her wound, her eyes huge in the blaze of the flashlights…

Then she spun, leaping at Lee, and he swung the flashlight at her in self-defense, knocking her away from him. She was so quick… Too quick… Sharkey and his men had better come soon; Nelson had no idea how to kill this thing, and he feared very much that she was more than a match for him and his command team…


	16. Chapter 16

They all heard the shots, even from the top of the ladder. Sharkey didn't bother to say anything. If there was gunfire, then there was a battle going on. His boys were experienced enough to know that. He didn't need to spell it out. He catapulted down the ladder, stake in hand. Hopefully, Riley truly knew what he was talking about and this pointy monstrosity would do for the vampire chick.

He could feel their presence at his back as the five of them charged down the corridor. The bilge room door was ajar, and they dodged around it, exploding into the room.

Sharkey took the situation in at a glance. Doc McKenzie down by the moon pool, bleeding, but conscious. Admiral Nelson standing between the doc and the vampire. The skipper – face gushing blood where he'd been scratched – angling to get close to the bitch with his dive knife. Mr. Morton about a yard from the door, holding one wrist against his chest. In the other hand, he held his handsome dive knife – a gift from the admiral, that one – at the ready. The gun was nowhere in sight, but when he had had it, he had clearly hit his mark; the vampire woman had four clean bloodless bullet holes clustered just above her left breast, every one a killer. The best proof that Riley was right, that she was a vampire. She sure as hell wasn't alive, because if she had been the first shot would have killed her... And if she were walking around with four bullets in her heart, she wasn't dead... Finally, Sharkey understood what _undead _meant.

She was watching each man in turn, licking her lips, as if the smell of blood made her hungry. By turns, she looked predatory and innocent, both fear and greed shining in her eyes. When she looked at Sharkey, he shuddered at the hungry red glow that pierced him, as if she were stripping away his skin, looking for the blood that flowed beneath it. This was a killer and no mistake...

She looked back at the captain, ducking her head, as she watched him creeping closer. Then without warning, she darted in the opposite direction, directly at the XO. The skipper called an unnecessary warning; Mr. Morton lifted his dive knife, moving almost as quickly as the woman. She screamed and backed away. The COB couldn't see a wound, but judging from the scream, she'd felt the point of that knife…

Sharkey shook himself, lifted his stake, and descended on her with a battle cry. The guys spread out through the room, each one attaching himself to an officer. Sharkey had trained his boys good; they knew where their first duty lay...

The vampire woman shrieked in Sharkey's face, and for a moment, her eyes showed him real terror... For a minute, he was looking at a beautiful and terrified woman... Every instinct cried out at stabbing her; he'd always been a gentleman, and a gentleman didn't hurt a woman... He hesitated... That was all the time she needed. In less than a second, she was on him, drawing him into her cold embrace, fastening her teeth on his neck. He cried out, and swung the sharpened pipe against her back as hard as he could, but she didn't flinch. The pipe dropped from nerveless, tingling fingers. He just couldn't seem to hold onto it anymore… Instinctively, Sharkey's hands went to his neck, grabbing her head and trying to pull her off him. Her teeth sheered through flesh, and as close as she was, he could see the fierce, animal gleam in her eyes, smell the charnel house that was her breath. Blood dribbled from the corner of her mouth as her eyes glared fiercely at him, daring him to stop her... His blood, disappearing down her throat... She was a messy eater, he thought with a strange kind of clinical detachment... Then he thought of Dolores Brown; they had grown to like each other a lot… What would she say if she could see this? How would she feel if he died here?

His legs shook like spaghetti, and he wanted nothing more than to sink bonelessly to the ground, but this bitch vampire's arms were like iron bands, holding him upright... He struggled, but it was a feeble effort at best. She was draining him dry, and there was nothing anyone could do…

Then she jerked in surprise and let him go. As Sharkey dropped to the ground, he saw Riley looming up behind her out of the blurred fog the rest of the room had become, his stake in his hand. He seemed oddly reluctant to impale her on it – that gentleman's instinct again - but the kid swung his stake like a club with a ferocity that both surprised and alarmed Sharkey. The COB tried to get to his feet, but a strange, dreamy sort of lethargy held him down. "Riley..." His voice came out as a croak. "Don't mess around..."

It hurt too much to talk, and Riley wasn't paying attention anyway. "Get. Off. The. Chief!" A hard whack punctuated every word; Stu was too caught up in what he was doing to hear either Sharkey or Malone's warning shout. Even the XO's warning didn't penetrate. Stu went right on whacking the woman. The only good thing about that was that she was on the defensive, rather than on the attack. Sharkey tried to crawl away from her, but he couldn't seem to find the strength…

"Stu!" Malone's voice. "Stu, get out of the way!"

Sharkey slowly and painfully turned his head to the crewman and blinked to clear his vision. Malone swam up out of the fog, assuming a classic javelin thrower stance. Yeah, that was right... Malone had been a track and field star in high school. He'd told them about it. His event had been the javelin...

Sharkey's eyes widened, as the information sank in... "Riley!" Again his voice was little more than a croak, but this time, Riley glanced his way in surprise.

"Chief! I thought..." His white face told Sharkey exactly what he'd thought, but neither of them had much time to contemplate it. The vampire woman slipped away from them flinging herself at the captain.

One thing for the skipper, though; he was never taken completely by surprise. He had his knife out, too, so when she flew at him, he palmed it, and stuck it in her side, up to the hilt. But he must have missed the heart, for though she screamed, the strangely bloodless injury didn't slow her down. Her claw-like fingers swiped across his face, then she fell away from him. Turning, she glared at them all, as if seeking fresh prey, then flung herself toward the admiral and the doc, where Crowe and Alfaro stood waiting. Both lifted their stakes, determination written on their faces. Riley had been oddly squeamish about staking her, even if he'd come up with the idea himself... Well, he was young, and hadn't ever killed anyone, and it was sure as hell that Sharkey hadn't done any better himself... Crowe and Alfaro with worlds more experience than the kid, and the example of Sharkey's failure before them, clearly weren't going to let her get by them...

But neither of them had to do anything. Malone was ready and waiting. As soon as she was clear of everyone, heading toward the admiral who stood like a shield in front of Doc, Malone sent his stake soaring through the air. Though she moved quicker almost than the eye could blink, the sharpened pipe flew straight and true, striking her in the back with an audible thump.

She didn't even scream... Perhaps she didn't have time to... Instead, she fell forward face-down almost at the admiral's feet. Her last, feeble movement carried her over on her side, and she looked up at the admiral, then turned her face toward the skipper as he closed in on her, her eyes dying even as her lips moved... Sharkey didn't catch what she said, but he heard the admiral's answer clearly...

"Riposa in pace..."

Sharkey didn't need to have a translator to know that the admiral had told her to rest in peace... If dizziness wasn't spinning the room about him, he might have been inclined to resent that. As much havoc as she'd caused on board, killing one crewman and injuring others… He shook his head to clear it of the cobwebs, but that was a big mistake…As the vampire slowly crumbled to dust at the admiral's feet, Sharkey folded up, succumbing to the blood loss. The room swirled around him and went black...


	17. Chapter 17

"Riley has some kind of secret. He's practically bursting with it." Chip leaned forward to pick an oatmeal raisin cookie off of the tray sitting on Lee's desk.

Lee didn't pay much attention. He had noted the sling Chip wore, and the tight bandaging on his wrist when he'd entered, but that was all. His XO was all right; or at least wasn't suffering from more than a slight concussion and a broken wrist. He returned to the words their stowaway had said to him as she'd died… "Ti perdono, mio fratello…" Lee's voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but judging from Chip's reactive frown, he'd heard the words. He spoke Italian as well as Lee did, one of the few languages they shared. Chip favored the Romance languages, while Lee had learned some of the older tongues spoken in the Middle and Far East. He knew his friend was going to say something, and braced himself for it. Here in the privacy of his cabin, his friends never stood on ceremony. Chip would probably lecture him, since there was no one to hear.

"You should quit worrying at that. Neither of us know what she meant by it. And she's dust now…" Chip shuddered and looked away; Lee knew why. There were some things even that perfect poker face couldn't hide, and Lee read him better than probably any man alive. He would have understood the connection that the words heralded, and having been the victim of another – far more human, and far crazier – predator, he could have guessed what the words might mean. He turned his face away to hide that knowledge and the consternation beneath it. As he contemplated the wall, he repeated the words softly. "She's dust now… Whatever she meant by calling you her brother, it doesn't matter anymore…"

_I forgive you, my brother… _Lee sighed and uncoiled from his chair. He snagged a cookie and munched as he paced toward the map on his wall. "You should have seen her face when she said it, Chip…"

"Lee…" The voice behind him trailed into silence. Clearly Chip had no idea what to say. Lee had suffered a similar lapse when they had brought Chip home from Argentina, after six weeks… Six weeks with Dr. Pope… Whatever had happened in those six weeks they never spoke of. What Lee had seen in that place, before he'd put a bullet in that woman's head, they never discussed. It was impossible to put into words; so was the look in those eyes as this stowaway had forgiven him for some completely unknown crime.

Lee had always taken every death hard. If he had to kill, he could, and did. But the need to kill marked a consummate failure to plan for every eventuality. If he could foresee all the different angles that a mission might take, he could surely come up with a plan that would negate the need to kill. The fact that he didn't like to kill made his position as one of ONI's top agents an unquestioned achievement.

But he'd gone to Argentina, intending to kill… And in the bilge room, tonight, they'd had to kill the vampire… She was too strong, and she had already killed once. She would have killed Will if she could have. And the hatred in her eyes when she'd looked at Lee still haunted him. For whatever reason, she'd associated Lee with her brother… But her brother must have been centuries dead, and they might never know exactly what she was, or how she'd become a predator…

Chip's voice, trying to lighten the mood in the cabin, broke his reverie. "You should have heard the discussion in Sick Bay. Riley crowing about his secret, Ski and Pat hanging on Malone's every word… I couldn't wait for John to let me out of there!"

Now he had Lee's attention… Lee turned back to his XO with a frown, putting away the odd feeling that had arisen from too many memories and her strange dying words. He concentrated instead on his friend's injuries. "He shouldn't have let you out. If Will had been in charge, he would have done more X-rays, and…"

"Lee," Chip said stonily, driving his point home. "I'm fine. The wrist was a clean break. And my head doesn't even hurt anymore." He hated having a fuss made over him; he never sought the limelight, and was content to efface himself cleanly, never taking credit for any of his many achievements. There were times when Lee just simply couldn't understand that kind of humility at all.

"Neither did Dad's…" He looked away then, but moved back to the desk. Best to put the whole situation behind them, since they clearly couldn't dissect it without chastising each other. He let it go, and smiled as he looked at the plate that was still full. "Cookie is not going to be happy with us, if we don't eat all these cookies."

Chip turned his head toward the plate that had been brought up from the galley about the same time he had arrived. "All of them?" He looked a little glassy-eyed, contemplating the mound of cookies. "How many are on that thing?"

Lee stared at the plate estimating quickly in his head. Chip's mathematical mind could have produced a far more accurate guess at the amount, but Lee was no slouch at estimation either. "Twenty?" He groaned. "There's no way we're going to eat twenty cookies…" He glanced toward the sound of the opening door, immediately alert, but relaxed when he recognized their visitor.

"Then maybe you'd care to share, gentlemen?" Admiral Nelson closed the door behind him and leaned against it.

Chip rose quickly, and moved aside, wordlessly offering his chair to the senior officer. Nelson contemplated them both for a minute, then crossed the room and slipped into the vacated chair. Lee got up and grabbed another for Chip, knowing that the broken wrist hampered him, then settled again, perched on the edge of his desk.

"We need to recap, so we can be prepared if this ever happens again…" Nelson looked at each of them in turn, then snatched a cookie. "We cannot depend on Malone to be there every time."

"Thank God he was this time," Lee muttered, swinging his leg as he allowed his thoughts to return to the scene in the bilge room. Naturally the admiral would want to go over it in detail until they could hash out a plan to protect the boat in the future. "All right, sir. Where do we start?


	18. Chapter 18

"I thought he was dead..." Riley's voice, a bit dejected, nagging at Sharkey. Was this a dream, or was the kid really here? And if he was really here, why didn't he go away and let a man sleep?

_ "_Come on, kid, you think anyone could take the chief out that easily?" Crowe, munching on something as always. That guy couldn't stop eating. He claimed it was a medical condition, but Sharkey knew he was just a pig... And what was he doing here? How many people were planning on invading either Sharkey's dreams or his cabin?

_ "_I should have staked her instead of whacking her... I just lost my head, I guess." Riley again, dissecting the action. Couldn't these clowns just keep quiet?

_ "_Well, which of us has ever dealt with vampires, before?" Was that Ski? Could it possibly be Ski? Man, this had to be a dream… But if it weren't a dream, that meant that Ski was awake and talking… It meant that Ski was going to be all right. Sharkey began to take an interest in the conversation.

"Hey, Malone, tell us again how you got her?" That was Pat... How did all these people get in here? Why were all these people in here? Wasn't this his cabin? Surely they weren't all just standing around in the bilge room watching him bleed?

Sharkey moaned and opened his eyes, expecting to see his familiar bunk. Yeah, maybe it was all a really weird dream? But then what did dreaming about vampires say about him? He didn't think he really wanted to know the answer to that…

But no... This wasn't his cabin, and it wasn't the bilge room either. He lay in a bunk in Sick Bay and now he could feel the throbbing ache in his throat. Reaching up, he touched a thick bandage that covered the wound. Just as well... He didn't really want to feel the damage that had been done to his throat. Still less did he want to know what it looked like. "What are you clowns doing here?" He wheezed a bit, and tried again, disliking the weak, sickly croak his voice made. "Sick people gotta rest, you know!" He sounded just like a little bitty toad. Great. Just great…

"Chief!" The joyous cry of several voices stabbed through his head, right down to his toes. Man, that hurt! He snarled at them.

"Keep quiet!" But the joy touched him; he drove the boys extra hard, lectured them on proper seamanship, and didn't cut anyone any slack, but still they cared. That was good to know. He eased himself upward, swallowing over the ache in his throat. Alfaro jumped to plump the pillows behind him. Now Sharkey could see that Pat was sitting in a chair, next to Ski's bunk, and Ski was awake... Awake! "Good of you to join us, Ski." He barked the words gruffly but honestly, he couldn't think of a finer sight than Ski lolling in that bunk, awake and listening to every word. They had so nearly lost him… On Sharkey's watch, too.

But he didn't want to think about that. Instead, he glanced around with a frown, looking for the man they had saved from the vampire's clutches. "Where's the doc?" An important question: Doc McKenzie had been bleeding when Sharkey last saw him, and judging from the way his own throat felt, Doc's probably didn't feel much better...

John, the corpsman, came over, frowning at the noise. "Doc is resting quietly in his own cabin. You need to quiet down. Ski, you should be resting."

"Aw, come on, John." Ski sounded hoarse and still a little weak, but he was unmistakably on the mend. "I want to hear about the vampire."

"You've heard a damned sight too much about the vampire." John could be as hard as the doc when it came to the welfare of his patients. He glared around at everyone. "You've already driven the XO out with your noise. He couldn't wait to get out of here! Wasn't that bad enough? You'll all be paying for it on the next watch! Clear out now, and let Ski, Pat, and the chief rest!"

"Hold on a minute!" Sharkey barked instinctively, not wanting the men to go before he had all the news. "What about the skipper? That thing scratched him, didn't she? And what about Doc? How bad is he hurt? And what the hell do you mean, these clowns drove the XO out?" Officers, damn it! Trouble magnets, each and every one. Even the ones Sharkey had always thought of as safe…

John heaved an enormous, exasperated sigh. "The skipper is fine. The scratches were superficial He probably won't even have any scars. And Doc is going to be okay. He lost a lot of blood, just like you did, chief, and his throat kind of looks like ground meat... Just like yours, chief. But you're both going to be okay." He glared around at the sailors again. "If you get some rest!"

"Okay, okay, geez, we can take a hint!" Crowe headed for the door, driving Malone, Alfaro, and Riley ahead of him, but he paused in the doorway. "Hey, chief, is it all right if Malone uses the missile room for some training?"

Training? What kind of training? Sharkey frowned, pondering that thought, but shook it away for a second until he had all the answers he wanted. "Just hold on a bit, Crowe. Hey, John, you didn't tell me about the XO."

John sighed. "He has a broken wrist and a mild – very mild – concussion. And he couldn't stand the noise in here, so I released him to his cabin. Which I doubt he's in, right now… Probably making rounds or something." He crossed his arms and glared at patients and visitors. "Satisfied? Will you at least try to rest now?"

Crowe returned to his question, like a dog gnawing at a bone. "What about the missile room, chief? Can we use it to train?"

Again Sharkey wondered what kind of training. With these guys, you just never knew. He narrowed his eyes. "Did you run it by the skipper?"

Alfaro cleared his throat – sure sign that something was going on. Alfaro only cleared his throat like that when they were doing something they weren't supposed to be doing... Or at least something they **thought** they weren't supposed to be doing… "We haven't had a chance yet, chief... We were hoping you would."

Sharkey sized them up with an eagle eye. His boys were up to something, but they weren't going to get away with it. "Out with it! Come on, you clowns, tell me what's going on here. What kind of training?"

Riley broke first; he grinned and said, "It's wizard, man! Malone is going to teach us all to throw the javelin!"

Crowe nodded, though he was a bit more matter-of-fact than Riley. "Yeah, chief. That way if we ever have any other vampires on board, they won't be a problem." He clapped Malone on the back and they went out the door.

Sharkey lay back against his pillows with a moan... It actually wasn't a bad idea at all... He might even want to be part of that training himself, but... Where were they going to get the stakes? It wasn't like they could waltz up to the XO and ask for a case. He could just imagine how that would go over…

But more importantly, how was he ever going to explain vampire killer training to the skipper?


End file.
